POEMS 


BY  f 

'&-JL*4$) 


^ 
MAEY  E.  TUCKER. 


NEW   YORK  : 

M.    DOOLADY,  PUBLISHER, 

448    BECOME    STEEET. 

1867. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 
M:   DOOLADY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  United  States  District  Court  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  Tork. 


JOBS  J.    BBED,    PRINTER    AND     STEBBOTYPBB, 

4S  Centre  Street,  N.  Y. 


TO 


HONORABLE    CHARLES    J.  JENKINS, 
Governor  of  Georgia, 


MRS.  GOVERNOR  JENKINS, 

MY      HONORED      AND      TRUSTED      FRIENDS, 

My  First  Volume 


'FULLY    AND     AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED. 


626183 


Vi  PREFACE. 

very  beautiful,  they  give  to  any  soul  the 
perfume  of  simple  truthfulness  and  genuine 
feeling.  u Homely"  was  once  an  endearing 
epithet,  reminding  the  heart  of  its  most 
sacred  earthly  associations.  In  this  sense, 
the  writer  will  be  gratified  to  have  her 
poems  pronounced  "homely." 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

The  First  Grey  Hair, 5 

Found— who  Lost  ? 9 

"  Did  you  call  me,  Father  ?" 11 

The  Blight  of  Love, 14 

Heart's  Ease, 16 

My  Mother's  Voice, 19 

Adieu, 21 

I  Smile,  but  oh  !  my  Heart  is  Breaking, 24 

The  Crushed  Flower, 26 

The  Old  Crib, 28 

Christmas  Eve,  South,  1865, 31 

Arria  to  Foetus, 84 


viii  CONTEXTS. 

PAOK 

To  Mary, 37 

Spring, 40 

Revenge, 42 

Lift  me  Higher, 45 

Silvery  Fountain, 48 

Crazed, 50 

No  Letter, 53 

The  Tryst, 56 

Hope, 58 

Autumn  Thoughts, 60 

"  That  Glove," 62 

Wail  of  the  Divorced, 65 

The  Opium-eater, 70 

Little  Bell, 73 

Weariness, 75 

Only  a  Blush, 77 

AKiss, 79 

/    Kindness, 80 

Child  Life, 82 

Evanishings, 86 

Life  for  a  Life, ,                              .  89 


PAGE 

Apple  Dumplings, 95 

Life, 97 

The  Signal  Gun, 101 

All  Alone, 103 

j/  Upon  Keceipt  of  a  Pound  of  Coffee  in  1863, 105 

Mrs.  Myrick's  Lecture, 107 

To  Fannie, 110 

I  am  weary,  Mother, 113 

Light  in  Darkness, 117 

The  Humming-bird, 120 

The  Soldier  Boy's  Dream, 122 

Mine, 126 

Mistletoe, 129 

Family  Portraits, 132 

Lines  to  an  Old  Dress, 136 

The  Mother's  Lament, 139 

To  Father, 142 

I  am  Fashion's  Toy, 145 

The  Mail  has  Come, 148 

To  Don  Juan  Baz,  Ex-Governor  of  Mexico, 152 

Disappointment, 154 


CONTENTS. 

PAOH 

,.  156 


Gone, 

« I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in," 158 

The  Drunkard's  Wife, 159 

The  Father's  Love, •. 1( 

Burial  of  a  Fairy  Queen, 16 7 

Mysteries  of  Life, l71 

Lines  upon  the  Death  of  Charley  du  Bignon. ...  175 

We  Met, 1Y9 

Drink  on, 182 

Speak  to  Her  Tenderly 184: 

Knitting, 186 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  the  Rev.  S.  K.  Talmage,  192 

To  Annie, 194 

The  Beautiful, 196 

The  Beautiful  Sea, 199 

Hugging  the  Shore, 203 

Christmas  South,  1866, 205 

A  Love-letter, 208 

To  One  who  Sleepeth, 211 


THE    FIRST    GREY    HAIR. 


"VT"0,  let  it  stay.     It  speaks  but  truth  : 

My  Autumn's  day  is  dawning. 
The  dream  is  past ;  sweet  dream  of  youth. 

Hair,  I  accept  thy  warning. 
With  mournful  thought,  my  spirit  swells, 
At  the  wild  chime  of  memory  bells. 


Why  will  we  in  the  present  time, 
Of  by-gone  days  be  dreaming  ? 

Say,  why  throughout  the  storm  sublime, 
Is  lightning  ever  gleaming  ? 

Ah  !  there  is  naught  on  earth  that  quells 

The  chiming  of  sad  memory  bells. 


THE   FIRST   GREY   HAIR. 

Hope,  garlands  fair  of  future  bliss, 
With  Fancy's  pearls  is  weaving  ; 

Alas  !  we  find  in  world  like  this, 
That  Hope  too  is  deceiving, 

As  on  the  past,  our  full  heart  dwells, 

At  your  sad  chiming,  memory  bells. 

In  youth  all  Earth  was  passing  bright, 
And  life  with  joy  was  teeming — 

But  hidden  in  each  flower  was  blight, 
And  happiness  was  seeming. 

Yet  charm  me  with  your  mystic  spells — 

With  your  sweet  chiming,  memory  bells. 

Why  speak  ye  of  the  cruel  wrong, 

That  I  am  ever  grieving  ? 
I  would  forget,  forgive,  be  strong, 

With  faith  in  Christ,  believing. 
But  oh  !  the  strain  triumphant  knells — 
Cease,  cease  your  clashing,  memory  bells. 


THE    FIRST   GREY   HAIR. 

Avaunt,  dark  image  of  despair  ! 

Why  dost  thou  still  go  raving  ? 
I  would  to  Lethe's  streams  repair, 

And  drown  thy  taunts  in  laving. 
Alas  !  can  nothing  still  thy  yells  ? 
Cease,  cease  your  clashing,  memory  bells. 

Now  mournful  is  the  solemn  strain, 

And  sadly  I  am  weeping. 
For  those  I  love  in  battle  slain, 

Who  all  unknown  are  sleeping, 
Like  murmuring  of  ocean  shells, 
Swells  your  sad  requiem,  memory  bells. 

Now  much  loved  voices  in  their  glee 
Their  joyous  shouts  are  sending  ; 

And  the  sweet  chorus,  light  and  free, 
Of  many  a  song  is  blending, 

Yet  bitter  tear-drops,  sad  fare-wells, 

Melt  in  your  chiming,  memory  bells. 


THE    FIRST   GREY   HAIR. 

Yet  I  would  fain  recall  the  past, 
The  bright  celestial  gleaming, 

Which  my  first  love  around  me  cast, 
Too  sweet  to  be  but  dreaming. 

Like  flowing  water,  in  lone  dells, 

Is  your  sweet  chiming,  memory  bells. 

Yes,  silver  hair,  rest  thee  in  peace, 
I  know  that  life  is  waning, 

That  soon  will  all  my  troubles  cease, 
And  I,  the  goal  attaining, 

Will  list  the  joy  your  music  tells, 

And  love  your  chiming,  memory  bells. 


FOUND — WHO   LOST  ? 


FOUND  — WHO    LOST? 


~T~   ADY,  tell  me,  will  you,  pray, 
-*-•     Why  that  cheek  of  roseate  hue  ; 
Why  so  downcast,  fond,  yet  shy, 
Is  thine  eye  of  heavenly  blue  ? 


Let  my  eye  gaze  into  thine  ; 

Let  me  scan  each  fold  of  hair  ; 
Let  me  gaze  upon  thy  cheek — 

By  George  !  I've  found  the  secret  there. 

Lady,  lady,  tell  me,  pray, 

How  you  could  do  a  thing  so  rash  ? 
Found  what  was  not  lost  by  you, 

One  little  hair  from  dark  moustache ! 


10  FOUND — WHO   LOST? 

So  firmly  printed  on  thy  face  ! 

There — I  detach  it  from  the  spot ; 
Now  blush  no  more — thy  secret's  safe, 

Known  but  to  me,  I'll  tell  it  not. 


"DID    YOU    CALL    ME,    FATHER?"  11 


"DID  YOU  CALL  ME,  FATHER?" 

She  opened  the  door,  and  said  in  an  alarmed  tone :  "  Father, 
was  that  you  calling  mo  ?"  And  again,  "  Father  !"  And  once 
again,  after  listening,  "  Father  I  I  thought  I  heard  you  call  me 

twice  before  1"    No  response. 

Dickens'  "Mutual  Friend:' 

"  TVD    you   call    me,    Father?"     Ah    no, 

'twas  the  surge, 

Swelling  a  requiem,  wailing  a  dirge  : 
Back,  maiden  !  create  still  thy  images  rare, 
Thy  bright  glowing  castles,  so  frail  yet  so  fair. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  Father  ?"     He  hears  thee  no 

more, 

Life's  tide  has  run  out,  he  has  drifted  afshore  ; 
No  bright  angels  guided  the  sinner's  frail  bark — 
He  was  wrecked  on  the  breakers,  alone,  in 
the  dark. 


12  "DID  YOU  CALL  ME,  FATHER?" 

"  I  thought  that  I  heard  you  call  twice  before  this, 

And,  Father,  I  felt  on  my  brow  your  last  kiss  ; 

Come  back  to  me,  Father,  come  back  to  your  child, 

Ere  you  be  in  the  darkness,  by  false  lights 

beguiled." 

Go  gaze  in  the  hollow,  way  down  by  the  flare, 
Say,  beautiful  dreamer,  what  seest  thou  there  ? 
Not  the  form  of  thy  Father,  cold,  silent,  and  dead, 
With  the  waves,  and  winds   toying  around  his 
grey  head. 

Thou  seest  the  future,  bright,  happy  and  free, 
When  thy  present  through  veil  of  past  years 

thou  shalt  see  : 
Now,  garlands  of  hope,  with  thy  love,  and  faith 

blend, 
All  fading,  alas  1  as  the  gold  sparks  ascend. 


"  DIB   YOU    CALL    ME,    FATHER  ?"  13 

Did  you  call  me,  Father  ?    N"o,  'twas  but  the 

wind, 

As  searching,  and  prying,  some  secret  to  find  ; 
It  wailed  round  the  dwelling,  again  sought  the 

shore, 
And  lifted  the  rags  from  the  body  once  more. 

His  grey  hair  is  all  stiff,  with  the  cold  ocean  brine, 
His  eyes  have  a  look  which  no  word  can  define — 
As  if  in  his  struggles,  while  borne  by  the  tide, 
He  thought  of  his  darling,  he  called  her,  and  died. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  Father  ?"    Awake,  girl,  awake  ! 
Thy  burden  of  sorrow,  within  thy  heart  take  ; 
Awake  from  thy  dreaming,  each  joy's  fraught 

with  care, 
And  Life's  but  a  "  hollow,  way  down  by  the  flare." 


14  THE   BLIGHT    OF   LOVE. 


THE    BLIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

"A  IT  AN  Y  long  years  ago,  I  loved  a  youth, 
-LVJ_    wllo  seeme(j  the  soul  of  honor  and 

of  truth — 

He  charmed  my  heart  with  some  unholy  spell, 
He  was  a  serpent,  whom  I  loved  so  well. 

The  blush  of  girlhood  had  just  ting'd  my  cheek  ; 
He  knew  me  young — perchance  he  thought  me  weak. 
'Tis  said,  he  often  boasted  of  his  power, 
To  gather  for  his  own  each  new-blown  flower. 

My  simple  language  can  not  well  describe 
How  first  he  stood  before  me  in  his  pride  ; 
His  form  was  cast  in  beauty's  manly  mould  ; 
His  eyes  shot  fire,  and  his  hair  was  gold. 


THE    BLIGHT    OF   LOVE.  15 

Fain,  fain  would  I  describe  to  you  his  glance  ; 
One  look  enough,  to  throw  me  in  a  trance  ; 
His  flute-like  voice — ah  !  from  my  sleep  I  woke, 
When  on  mine  ear  the  cadence  gently  broke. 

A  month  passed  by  :  he  lingered  by  my  side, 
Longed  for  the  time,  when  I  should  be  his  bride  ; 
Ah  !  bitter  ending,  of  that  month  of  years, 
A  life  of  sorrow,  and  a  life  of  tears. 

The  scathing  truth,  like  any  lightning  stroke, 
Fell'd  me  to  earth,  and  my  poor  heart  was  broke  ; 
He,  frightened,  turned  and  left  me,  with  my  woe, 
For,  in  my  wrath,  I  sternly  bade  him  go. 

I've  never  loved  again  ;  for  there,  and  then, 
All  my  faith  vanished  in  the  truth  of  men. 
Of  that  short  month,  'tis  seldom  that  I  speak, 
And  to  forget  my  youth,  in  vain  I  seek. 


16  HEART'S  EASE. 


HEART'S    EASE. 

~T   OXELY  and  dreary  was  the  day, 
•  *  •*     Lonely  and  weary  swelled  my  heart, 
Fainting  for  need  of  Hope's  bright  ray — 
For  without  Hope  will  Joy  depart. 

We  may  survive,  but  do  we  live 

As  God  has  willed  his  children  should, 

While  craving,  praying,  give,  oh  give, 
All,  all  is  evil,  give  me  good  ? 

I  wandered  far  from  haunts  of  men — 

Cold,  bitter  cold,  the  Xorth  wind  blew  ; 

It  even  reached  my  favorite  glen, 

Where  first  spring  flowerets  always  grew 


HEART'S  EASE.  17 

I  threw  myself  in  my  despair 

Upon  a  bed  of  faded  leaves — 
I  wept  aloud,  and  tore  my  hair, 

Grieved,  as  a  bereaved  mother  grieves. 

I  prayed  for  death  ;  for  death  will  bring 
Oblivion,  and  rest,  sweet  rest ! 

Then  memory  will  lose  its  sting, 

And  peace  is  found  on  Jesus'  breast. 

Give  me,  oh  Father,  was  my  prayer, 
Some  taken,  that  my  Spring  is  near, 

Soothe  my  deep  grief,  calm  my  despair, 
Console  me,  Lord,  assuage  my  fear. 

A  sunbeam  cleft  the  dense,  cold  air, 
And  rested  on  a  Heart's  Ease  bloom  ; 

Life,  life  in  death  !  adieu,  despair  ! 

The  morning  dawns  o'er  night's  deep  gloom. 


18  HEART'S  EASE. 

I  clasped  the  omen  to  my  soul, 

And  to  my  lips  the  Heart's  Ease  pressed, 
Tumultuous  storms  may  o'er  me  roll — 

That  token  future  joys  expressed. 


MY  MOTHER'S  VOICE.  19 


MY    MOTHER'S    VOICE. 

/"~\H  never  on  my  youthful  ear 
^^^     A  Mother's  gentle  accents  broke  ! 
The  vital  spark,  from  which  I  sprung, 
Expired,  as  I  to  life  awoke. 

No  mother  pressed  me  to  her  breast, 
And  bade  my  childish  heart  rejoice, 

For  with  my  infant  first-born  wail, 

Death  hushed  for  aye  my  mother's  voice. 

Alone  I  climbed  the  dizzy  height, 
That  led  to  never-dying  fame, 

I  sought  and  won,  and  now  I  wear 
A  famous,  but  unenvied  name. 


MY  MOTHER'S  VOICE. 

Had  she  been  near,  to  shield  and  guide 
Her  wayward,  but  her  trustful  child, 

Rare  flowerets  would  hare  bloomed  where  now 
Are  weeds  in  rank  luxuriance,  wild. 

In  visions,  sometimes,  I  behold 
Her  form  of  heavenly  loveliness  ; 

She  speaks,  and  o'er  me  gently  bends, 
And  prints  on  my  pale  brow  a  kiss. 

And  I  awake — 'tis  but  a  dream  ! 

But  still  the  voice  strikes  on  mine  ear, 
And  from  my  callous  heart  calls  forth 

Up  through  mine  eyes  the  scorching  tear. 

Then  pass  not  judgment  rash,  or  harsh, 
On  stern  Misfortune's  chosen  child, 

Who  never  heard  a  mother's  voice, 
On  whom  a  mother  never  smiled  ! 


ADIEU.  21 


ADIEU. 

~T  IFE  is  full  of  mirth  and  pleasure, 

But  all  joy  is  on  the  wing — 
Base  alloy  corrodes  each  treasure, 
And  enjoyment  hides  a  sting. 
Bliss  is  like  a  rainbow,  cheating, 
Beautiful  and  bright,  but  fleeting. 


True,  there's  real  bliss  in  the  greeting 
Of  each  loving,  kindred  heart  ; 

But  a  sadness  dims  our  meeting, 

For  we  know  we  soon  must  part — 

Thus  ties  of  Love,  and  friendship  true, 

Are  severed  by  the  sad  adieu. 


Adieu,  and  from  the  mother's  eyes 
Streams  her  deep  love,  in  tears. 

Adieu,  adieu,  my  child,  she  cries, 
Adieu,  perchance  for  years. 

And  of  our  parting,  keep  this  token, 

My  bitter  tears — my  heart  is  broken. 

And  that  mother,  in  her  anguish, 
Prays  to  God  that  she  may  die — 

Better  thus,  than  still  to  languish, 
Crying  ever,  this  sad  cry  : 

Give  me  back  my  child,  my  treasure, 

Ye  have  o'er  flown  my  bitter  measure. 

Alas  !  the  hand  of  reckless  fate, 
As  on  time's  wings,  she  flies  ; 

Severs,  with  most  remorseless  hate, 
The  tenderest,  holiest  ties. 

E'en  sacred  bonds  of  heaven's  making, 

Fate  laughs  to  scorn,  and  smiles  in  breaking. 


23 


Thus  all  earthly  friendships  sever — 
Such  is  Heaven's  stern  decree. 

But  God's  loved  ones  meet,  to  never 
Part  again  in  land  of  free, — 

There,  there  above  the  sky's  deep  blue, 

Hearts  are  not  broken  by  adieu. 


24      I   SMILE,    BUT   OH  !   MY  HEART   IS   BREAKING. 


I  SMILE,    BUT   OH!    MY   HEART   IS 
BREAKING. 

~T~  MIXGLE  with  the  young  and  gay, 

In  halls  where  Fashion  holds  her  sway  ; 
I  gaze  upon  the  giddy  throng, 
While  for  some  quiet  spot  I  long. 

They  call  me  heartless.     Do  they  know 

That  mirth  is  but  an  empty  show  ? 

That  silvery  grandeur  often  shrouds 

The  storms  which  lurk  within  bright  clouds  ? 

The  eye  may  beam  with  dazzling  light, 
And  shed  on  all  its  glances  bright, 
Yet  be  unburdened  of  the  tears, 
That  shone  like  diamonds  there,  for  years. 


I    SMILE,    BUT    OH  !    MY   HEART    IS    BREAKING.       25 

The  lips  may  breathe  the  thoughtless  word, 
And  yet,  too  oft  alas  !  unheard, 
•  That  word  may  mingle  with  a  sigh 
From  reckless  heart  which  prays  to  die. 

I  seek  each  joy — I  fain  would  lave 
My  restless  mind  in  Lethe's  wave  ; 
But  memory  is  ever  waking — 
I  smile,  but  oh,  my  heart  is  breaking. 


THE    CRUSHED    FLOWER. 


THE    CRUSHED    FLOWER. 


A 


S  through  earth's  garden  once  I  strayed 

I  saw  a  rose  tree  fair — 
And  from  it  plucked  an  opening  bud, 
In  all  its  beauty  rare. 

I  gazed  deep  in  its  heart  of  hearts — 

It  blushed  beneath  my  eye  ; 
While  its  faint  fragrance  seemed  to  breath'.1 

A  gentle,  unheard  sigh. 

'Twas  mine  alone  1     I  cherished  it — 

My  frail  and  lovely  flower  I 
Until  another  bud  I  found, 

More  beauteous,  in  an  hour. 


THE   CRUSHED   FLOWER.  2t 

Then  with  relentless  hand  I  broke 

The  floweret's  fragile  stem  : 
I  spoiled  the  gem  that  would  hare  graced 

A  monarch's  diadem  ! 


But  stern  remorse  soon  touched  my  heart, — 

Back  to  the  spot  I  rushed. 
Alas  !  too  late  ;  my  flower  was  there, 

But  its  poor  heart  was  crushed  ! 


23  THE    OLD    CRIB. 


THE    OLD    CRIB. 

"Sell  that  crib?    Indeed!  indeed  I  cannot,  for  I  see  in 
it  the  faces  of  my  children.    I  will  starve  before  I  sell  that 

Confederate  Lady,  1864. 

"T"  KNOW  thou  art  a  senseless  thing, 
-^     Still  recollections  round  thee  cling 

Of  joys  long  past; 
And  I  would  fain  retain  thee  now, 
Yet  want's  stern  hand  and  lowering  brow 

Has  o'er  me  cast 
His  misery  with  weight  untold, 
And,  much  prized  crib,  thou  must  be  sold  I 

Ah  1  well  do  I  remember  yet, 
Remember  ?  can  I  well  forget 
That  happy  day, 


THE    OLD    CRIB.  29 

When  a  swift  tide  my  spirit  moved, 
Aiid  with  a  mother's  soul,  I  loved 

The  child  that  lay 
Within  thy  lap — my  precious  boy  ! 
How  throbbed  my  heart  with  untold  joy. 

How  swiftly,  then,  the  years  sweep  on, 
With  love,  joy,  wealth,  they  come,  are  gone, 

And  very  soon 

A  little  dark-eyed,  bonny  girl, 
Pressed  on  thy  pillow  many  a  curl. 

Most  precious  boon 
That  ever  was  to  mortal  given — 
A  cherub,  from  the  gates  of  heaven. 

And  yet  again,  some  powerful  spell, 
Called  to  this  earth,  sweet  baby  Bell, 

My  sunbeam  child, 
With  hair  of  gold,  and  eyes  of  blue, 
And  cheeks  that  vie  the  rosebud's  hue — 

Pure,  undented  ! 


30  THE    OLD    CIUB. 

About  my  heart  she  seems  to  twine, 
As  round  the  oak,  the  clinging  vine. 

Take  back  thy  gold  !     It  shall  not  go  ! 
'Twas  mine  in  weal,  and  now  in  woe  : 

It  comforts  me. 

It  takes  me  back,  in  fitful  gleams, 
To  the  sweet,  fairy  land  of  dreams, 

And  then  I  see 

Those  little  heads,  with  glossy  curls, 
My  manly  boy,  my  little  girls  ! 


CHRISTMAS    EVE,    SOUTH,    1865.  31 


CHRISTMAS   EYE,   SOUTH,  1865, 

"T^OYERTY,  remorseless  spectre, 

Reigns  throughout  our  once  fair  land, 
And  he  wields  no  fancy  sceptre, 

In  his  iron-covered  hand. 
Stifled  sighs  our  hearts  are  rending, 
Thanks  for  peace — with  want  contending. 

Widows,  orphans,  homeless,  dreary, 
Call  in  vain  for  earthly  aid, — 

There  is  rest  for  all  the  weary, 

On  Hun,  let  your  cares  be  stayed 

He  his  helpless  ones  protecting, 

Who  abideth  his  directing. 


32  CHRISTMAS    EVE,    SOUTH,    1865. 

'Tis  the  merry  Christmas  even, 

Hallowed  throughout  all  the  earth  ; 

Angels,  too,  rejoice  in  Heaven, 
O'er  the  blessed  Saviour's  birth. 

Yet  many  are  sad  vigils  keeping    • 

For  those  who  all  unknown  are  sleeping. 

Children  hush  their  eager  voices, 
They  by  instinct  seem  to  feel, 

That  the  heart  which  now  rejoices 
Must,  indeed,  be  cased  in  steel. 

Yet  still  they  turn  with  bitter  sighing, 

To  where  their  little  socks  are  lying. 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  darling  mother  ! 

Please  don't  weep  so  any  more  ; 
We  are  left  you,  I  and  brother, 

"We  don't  care  if  we  are  poor. 
Now,  mother,  darling,  stop  your  weeping, 
And  kiss  us  ere  we  both  are  sleeping." 


CHRISTMAS    EVE,    SOUTH,    1865.  33 

Rosy  sleep  at  last  lias  bound  them  ; 

Now  they  revel  in  their  dreams  ; 
"  Santa  Glaus  "  now  hovers  round  them, 

Showering  o'er  them  fairy  gleams 
Darlings,  what  is  life  but  dreaming  ? 
Grasp  a  pleasure — 'tis  but  seeming. 

Mother  !  kneel  in  adoration, 

That  thou  hast  some  comfort  left ; 

Send  forth,  now,  thy  invocation 
For  the  sad  of  all  bereft. 

With  faith  in  God,  in  Christ  believing, 

For  Heaven  is  real,  and  earth  deceiving. 


34  ARRIA   TO    FOETUS. 


ARRIA    TO    FOETUS. 

~PN  vain  !  in  vain  !  my  pleading  all  in  vaiii ! 

Have  I  my  senses,  or  am  I  insane  ! 
Is  it  a  dream,  a  fearful,  bloody  dream, 
In  which  a  mirage  something  real  doth  seem  ? 

Or  is  it  truth,  truth,  stunning  real,  yet  truth, 
That  pales  with  age  the  sunny  hair  of  youth  ? 
Truth,  nearest  truth,  that  lying  earth  can  give; 
That  thou  hast,  Foetus,  but  a  day  to  live. 

Have  they  no  pity,  or  have  they  no  shame, 
That  they  should  blacken  thy  illustrious  name  ? 
It  is  not  death.     Then  dost  not  fear  to  die, 
For  thy  pure  soul  will  waft  to  God  on  high. 


ARRIA   TO    FOETUS.  35 

'Tis  the  disgrace,  the  ignominious  end, 
That  our  captors  on  thee  fain  would  send. 
Ah  1  we  will  thwart  them,  Foetus  :  you  and  I 
Will  show  how  well  the  noble  brave  can  die. 


And  God  will  pardon.     He,  the  God  of  love, 

Will  let  us  rest  together,  far  above. 

Ah,  earth  is  fair  and  beautiful  to  seo  ; 

But  what  are  joys,  my  husband,  without  thee  ? 

To  me,  this  dungeon  is  a  palace  gay, 
For  thou,  beloved,  art  my  soul's  bright  ray  ; 
But  wert  thou  gone,  each  day  would  seem  to  me 
Years,  years,  on  years,  a  dark  eternity. 

Ah  !  death  is  nothing  but  a  moment's  pain, 
'Tis  but  the  breaking  of  a  link  of  chain, 
'Tis  but  the  ebbing  of  the  tide  of  life, 
'Tis  but  the  leaving  of  this  world  of  strife. 


36  ARRIA   TO    FOETUS 

'Tis  but  the  fading  of  a  summer's  flower, 
To  bloom  again  in  Heaven's  blissful  bower  ; 
•Tis  but  the  ending  of  a  verse  of  time, 
To  add  to  death  but  yet  another  rhyme. 

'Tis  but  the  changing  of  the  robes  of  earth 
For  spotless  garments  of  immortal  birth  ; 
Then,  husband  !  lover  !  let  us  welcome  death, 
Our  foes  defy  with  e'en  our  latest  breath. 

This  dagger,  see  how  sharp  its  shining  blade  ! 
But  one  slight  blow,  and  then  death  dues  are  paid. 
She  placed  the  knife  upon  her  faithful  breast — 
Forgave  the  conquerors,  and  her  husband  blest. 

Then  plunged  it  in,  and  faintly,  sweetly  cried, 
It  is  not  painful,  Foetus,  and  she  died. 
The  faithful  husband  grasped  the  glittering  knife, 
And  with  his  hand  the  forfeit  paid  of  life. 


37 


TO    MARY. 

E  sky  low  down  in  distant  West,  is 

with  golden  hue, 
While  all  the  glorious  vault  above  is  one  brignt 

mass  of  blue. 
Now  as   I  still  gaze   in  the  West,  my  favorite 

star  I  see, 
A  diamond    bright,    queen    of    the    night,    the 

evening  star  for  me. 

Some  love  the  warlike  star  of  Mars  :  he  pleaseth 

not  my  eyes  ; 
Some   say  that  Jupiter  is  bright :   his  looks  I 

little  prize  ; 
The  morning  star  is  passing  fair,  but  still  I  love 

it  not  ; 

For  none  to  me  shines  lovingly,  as  Venus*  on  my  cot. 
*  Written  when  Venus  was  evening  star. 


38  TO   MART. 

Now  the  pale  moon,  as  if  in  love,  is  sending  from 

the  sky 
Her  tender  beams  upon  the  field,  where,  Mary, 

you  and  I 
So  oft  have  stood  at  close  of  day,  and  talked  our 

little  cares — 
Love,  children,  cooks,  our  thoughts  of  books,  our 

prospects,  hopes  and  fears. 

Now  standing  out  in  bold  relief,  I  see  your  cottage 

white  ; 
The  once  green  trees  are  bare  of  leaves,  they  fell 

at  winter's  blight. 
All  is  so  still  !     No  light  is  there,  I  know  you 

are  at  rest  ; 
May  slumber's  light  be  yours  this  night — may  you 

be  ever  blest. 

Soon,  very  soon,  for  aught  we  know,  our  pathway 

may  divide  ; 
Bat,  Mary,  will  you  think  of  me,  when  I'm  not  by 

your  side  ? 


39 


And  oh  !   look  on,  with  pitying  eye,  in  distant, 

distant  years  ; 
My  virtues  few,  my  friendship  true,  and  o'er  my 

faults  shed  tears. 


40 


SPRING. 

PRIXGr,  glad  Spring,  has  dawned  on  earth  ; 

Birds  rejoice  for  her  bright  birth  ; 
Farewell  now  to  winter  dear — 
Spring,  with  all  her  joys,  is  here. 

Trees  clothed  in  green,  our  hearts'  delight, 
Rare  flowerets  bloom,  ia  colors  bright ; 
Earth  joyful  now,  her  riches  yields, 
While  Spring  her  radiant  sceptre  wields. 

V 

Lowing  kine  with  thanks  rejoice ; 
Insects  hum  with  drowsy  voice  ; 
Everything  on  earth,  in  air, 
Join  in  the  chorus,  Spring  is  fair  ! 


41 


But  now,  alas,  no  transient  bloom 
Can  take  from  each  sad  heart  its  gloom  ; 
For  misery,  with  might  untold, 
Rests  on  each  heart  of  mortal  mould. 

We  mourn,  because  war's  chilling  blast 
Its  arm  of  death  has  round  us  cast ; 
We  mourn  the  noble  and  the  brave, 
Xow  sleeping  in  an  unknown  grave. 


42  REVEXGE. 


A 


REYENGE. 

H  !  I  could  curse  them  in  my  woe, 

E'en  as  the  viper  stings, 
And  to  the  heel  that  strikes  it  clings, 
So  I  could  plant  my  blow. 

Yes,  I  could  pray  that  fell  disease 
Should  torture  them  with  pain — 
That  plague  should  fall  in  every  ram, 
Miasma  taint  each  breeze. 

That  wealth  should  vanish,  and  the  curse 
Of  poverty  should  reign  ; 
That  cries  for  bread  should  be  ha  vain  I 
An  always  empty  purse. 


43 


That  friends  should  die,  ana  every  pride 
Should  vanish  in  a  day  ; 
'Till  even  hope  withdraws  her  ray, 
And  naught  of  joys  abide. 

Yes,  I  could  whisper  in  the  ear 
Of  one  who  loves  to  tell 
Some  fabrication,  dark  as  hell, 
As  scandal  loves  to  hear. 

Revenge  is  sweet ;  I  could  invent 
Full  many  a  thousand  way, 
That  would  my  heartfelt  wrongs  repay, 
Could  they  my  soul  content. 

But  could  I  go  to  sleep  in  peace, 
And  could  I  dream  of  heaven — 
Could  I  e'er  hope  to  be  forgiven 
When  death  came  to  release  ? 


44  REVENGE. 

Revenge  is  sweet  to  those  who  live  ; 
But  when  we  think  of  death— 
The  ebbing  of  this  life-tide  breath — 
'Tis  sweeter  to  forgive. 


LIFT   ME   HIGHER.  45 


LIFT    ME    HIGHER. 

'  IFT  me  higher  !      Lift  me  higher  ! 
From  this  sphere  of  earthly  dross  ; 
Upward  still !  far  yonder  gleaming, 
Shines  my  Saviour's  glorious  cross. 

Oh,  very  beautiful  is  life, 

And  earthly  flowers  are  passing  fair 
But  lift,  oh  lift  me  up  to  heaven, 

And  let  me  rest  forever  there. 

There,  no  care  shall  plough  its  furrows  ; 

There,  no  sin  shall  blur  my  heart ; 
There,  in  blessed  choirs  of  angels, 

I  shall  sing  a  humble  part. 


46  LIFT   ME  HIGHER. 

Lift  me  higher  1      Lift  me  higher  ! 

Friends  of  earth,  no  tears  for  me  I 
From  temptation,  sin,  and  sorrow, 

Let  me  be  forever  free  ! 


Ah  !  I  hear  my  Saviour  call  me  ! 

Clad  in  heavenly  robes  of  white  ; 
He  will  lift  me  higher,  higher, 

From  this  world  of  storm  and  night. 

Lift  me  higher  !     Lift  me  higher  ! 

Farewell  earthly  friends  I  love. 
Lift  me  higher  !     Lift  me  higher  ! 

To  that  better  world  above  ! 

"  Lift  me  higher  !"     And  our  darling 
Gently  closed  her  wearied  eyes  ; 

<Lnd  her  spirit,  lifted  higher, 

Reached  its  home  beyond  the  skies. 


LIFT   ME    HIGHER. 

She  is  sleeping,  and  white  marble 
This  inscription  only  bears  : 

"Oar  lost  flower — thirteen  summers — 
Lifted  higher  " — than  life's  cares. 


48  SILVERY    FOUNTAIN". 


SILVERY   FOUNTAIN. 

QJILYERY  Fountain !  soft  and  clear 
^-^     Falls  thy  murmuring  on  mine  ear  ; 
And  thy  flowing  ever  brings 
The  memory  that  round  me  clings 
Of  long  ago. 

Resting  on  thy  brink  so  oft, 
Mingling  with  thy  music  soft, 
I  have  heard  words,  sad  and  sweet, 
"Words  no  mortal  can  repeat 

In  days  of  yore. 

When  thy  shining  streamlet  fell, 
Ere  it  reached  the  crystal  shell 


SILVERY    FOUNTAIN.  49 

My  head  would  catch  the  glittering  glearn, 
And  diamonds  with  my  gold  would  beam 
Like  stars  on  night. 

In  waking  dreams,  with  half-closed  eyes, 
I've  seen  fair  forms  from  thee  arise, 
And  wondered  were  they  beings  of  earth, 
With  fairy  forms,  yet  mortal  birth, 

Or  rays  of  light. 

I  felt  that  angel  ones  were  near, 
And  hoping,  knowing,  they  would  hear — 
My  heart's  thoughts  to  my  lips  would  rise, 
And  prayers  be  wafted  to  the  skies, 

On  wings  of  love. 

Ah,  speak  again  !     No  unknown  tongue 
Was  thine  to  me,  when  I  was  young  ; 
Fain  would  I  linger  near  thy  side 
And  die,  that  those  I  love  might  guide 
My  soul  above. 


50 


CRAZED. 

~VTO  rest !  no  rest  on  this  bleak  earth  for  me  ; 
A  thousand  fancies  flit  across  my  brain  ; 
Dun  phantoms  of  the  shadowy  past  I  see — 
I  know,  oh  God  !  I  know  I  am  insane. 

Deep  in  my  breast  the  secret  I  will  hide- 
To  those  who  love  me  'twould  give  bitter  pain : 

Foes  would  rejoice  should  evil  ere  betide, 
And  'tis  an  awful  curse  to  be  insane. 

Ho  !  ho  !  a  light !  I  say,  my  wife,  a  light ! 

This  heavy  darkness  crushes  my  poor  heart ; 
And,  darling,  sit  beside  my  bed  to-night — 

Thy  kind  words  comfort  to  my  soul  impart. 


CRAZED.  51 

Ah,  do  not  start,  when  my  deep  groans  you  hear : 
I  stagger,  struck  with  agony  so  fell ; 

See  there  !  see  there  !  'tis  gone  ;  you  need  not  fear  ; 
You  cannot  see  the  Devil's  mystic  spell. 

I  hear  a  footstep  !     Halt !     I  say,  who's  there  ? 

The  wind,  you  answer  ;  ah,  I'm  not  insane  ! 
You  can't  deceive  me  with  your  words  so  fair — 

There  !  there  !  I  hear  the  sound  approach  again. 

The  light !  I  say  !  I  tell  you  I  will  see- 
It  is  a  thief,  with  murderous  thought  intent ; 

5Tou  can't  prevent  me — but,  ah,  woe  is  me  I 
Are  you,  too,  on  some  hidden  mischief  bent  ? 

Forgive  me,  darling  ;  I  did  wildly  rave  ; 

I  think  I  am  a  little  crazed  to-night. 
Stay  with  me,  pet-wife,  you  are  good  and  brave  ; 

The  spell  will  pass  with  morning's  dawning  bright. 


52  CRAZED. 

Press  your  soft  hand  upon  my  aching  head — 
Weeping  again  ?    Why  will  you  always  weep  ? 

Your  eyes  their  brightness  with  the  tears  will  shed : 
There,  good  night,  darling  !  now,  I  fain  would 


53 


NO    LETTER. 

64  ~\T°  letter  !"  Poor  mother  I  <*,  well  may'st 
thou  weep, 

For  thy  noble  and  manly  first-born 
Is  now  sleeping  peacefully  death's  dreamless  sleep  ; 

He  shall  never  again  see  the  morn. 

"  No  letter  I"  and  yet  from  his  pocket  they  took, 
When  they  searched  there  to  find  out  his  name, 

A  missive  unfinished  in  his  Holy  Book, 
All  hopeful  of  glory  and  fame. 

"  In  battle  to-day  our  flag  I'll  uphold, 

And  defend,  though  I  lose  my  right  arm  ; 

I  am  young,  I  have  strength,  and  with  courage 

am  bold, 
With  my  life,  I  will  shield  it  from  harm. 


54  NO   LETTER. 

"  I  must  go,  dear  mother  !     I  hear  the  drums  call, 
And  I  will  write  more  on  the  morrow." 

Alas  !  ere  that  day  closed,  the  enemy's  ball 
To  that  mother  bequeathed  ceaseless  sorrow. 

No  letter  !  and  sadly  the  wife  turned  away, 
And  crushed  in  her  heart  the  great  pain, 

As  God  gave  her  patience,  while  day  after  day 
She  sought  for  the  letter  in  vain. 

"  No  letter  !"  your  children  are  fatherless  now  ; 

Bow  in  meekness  to  God's  stern  decree, 
Your  husband,  with  laurel  wreaths  twined  round 
his  brow, 

Is  at  rest  in  the  land  of  the  free. 

"  No  letter  !"  sweet  maiden,  your  lover  so  brave, 
To  his  heart  clasped  your  image  and  fell ; 

Said  he  gloried  to  fill  a  poor  soldier's  grave, 
For  the  country  he  loved  so  well. 


NO    LETTER.  55 

To  leave  you  alone  was  his  only  regret, 
In  this  sad  world  of  sorrow  and  sin  ; 

But  your  grief  he  was  hopeful  you  soon  would 

forget, 
And  sighing  for  what  might  have  been. 

"  No  letter  1"  dear  sister,  your  brother  is  dead  ; 

Alas  !  he  was  shot  in  the  battle  ; 
No  sister's  hand  near  to  hold  his  cold  head, 

With  no  one  to  hear  the  death-rattle. 

Only  those  who  have  writhed  'neath  the  heart- 
crushing  thought, 

And  who  live  upon  hope's  brittle  thread, 
Can  know  the  sad  trial,  with  which  life  is  fraught, 

Brings  the  longing  to  be  with  the  dead. 


56  THE  TRYST. 


THE    TRYST. 

r  WAITED  full  two  hours,  or  more, 
L      Beneath  the  old  pine  tree, 
Where  oft  I've  lingered  twilight  hours, 
Watching,  my  Lore,  for  thee. 

I  waited  till  the  shadows  grew 
Like  giants,  grim  and  grey  ; 

I  waited  till  night's  coming  chased 
The  shadows  far  away. 

I  waited  for,  I  knew  not  what ; 

But,  oh,  I  waited  there, 
Hoping,  perchance,  some  ray  to  find, 

To  lighten  my  despair. 


THE    TRYST.  51 


A  year  ago  last  May,  I  sat 
Beneath  the  old  pine-tree  ; 

My  tryst  was  not  a  broken  one, 
For,  Love,  you  came  to  me. 

I  waited,  and  my  spirit  called 
Thy  spirit,  Love,  to  me  ; 

No  tryst  was  ever  broken  there 
Beneath  the  old  pine-tree. 


58  HOPE- 


HOPE. 

\    S  shines  the  sunbeam  through  dark  clouds, 

Hope  breaks  the  spirit's  lowering  shrouds 
E'en  as  the  morning  dawns  o'er  night, 
Hope  sheds  her  radiant,  golden  light. 

Like  the  soft  dew  to  thirsting  flower, 
Hope  e'er  revives  the  soul's  faint  hour — 
A  soothing  balm  for  every  grief ; 
Hope,  precious  hope,  finds  sure  relief. 

The  anchor  of  the  tide-bound  soul, 
With  breakers  near,  while  billows  roll 
Around,  about,  but  ne'er  o'erwhelm, 
With  Hope  the  anchor,  Faith  the  helm. 


59 


Hope,  like  the  olden  Shepherd's  star, 
Telleth  her  tidings  from  afar  ; 
And  though  earth's  flowers  fade  and  die, 
Hope,  Hope  revives  them  in  the  sky. 


6Q  AUTUMN  THOUGHTS. 


AUTUMN    THOUGHTS. 

T    FROM  my  chamber-window,  mark 
5      The  dying  of  the  year  ; 
The  trees  in  red  and  green  and  gold, 

Show  Autumn's  progress  sere  ; 
And  soon,  alas  !  these  richest  tints 

Will  change  to  sober  brown  ; 
The  trees  of  their  bright  garb  bereft, 

Wear  winter's  sternest  frown. 

The  warbling  songster  seeks  in  vain 

Some  place  to  shield  his  wings, 
And  shivering  on  the  bare  cold  oak, 

In  piteous  notes  he  sings. 
The  flowerets  hide  their  frail  bright  heads 

Till  winter  shall  be  o'er, 
'ihen  at  the  first  faint  call  of  Spring, 

They  show  themselves  once  more. 


AUTUMN    THOUGHTS.  61 

The  autumn  rain  is  falling  slow, 

With  chilling,  solemn  spell, 
As  if  no  brightness  ever  more 

On  this  bleak  earth  shall  dwell. 
The  dying  of  the  day  or  year 

With  awe  impress  the  mind  ; 
For  though  we  know  God's  ways  are  right, 

His  mercies  ever  kind, — 

We  mortals  seldom  stop  to  think, 

When  brooding  o'er  the  night, 
How  quickly  day  will  dawn  again, 

And  Spring  again  bloom  bright ; 
And  at  the  end  of  life's  short  path 

The  aged  should  remember, 
Eternal  Spring-time  dawneth  bright 

Soon  after  bleak  December. 


62  "THAT  GLOVE." 


THAT    GLOVE/ 


"TT"T"HY  cherish  thus  the  senseless  thing  ? 
*  *        Do  memories  around  it  cling 

Of  joys  long  past  ? 
Or  does  it  speak  of  present  bliss  ? 
Do  sweet  last  word,  or  parting  kiss, 
Charms  o'er  it  cast  ? 


Now  were  it  but  a  thing  with  life, 
In  which  were  earthly  passions  rife, 

Then  I  could  see 

Why  you  should  press  it  to  your  heart, 
Nor  let  it  from  your  hand  depart — 

It  cannot  flee. 


"  THAT   GLOVE."  63 

You  touch  it,  and  you  are  unmann'd — 
I  hold  it  passive  in  my  hand — 

No  thrill  of  love 

Shoots  through  my  veins  ;  you  bow  before  it, 
The  loving  slave  of  her  who  wore  it — 

That  white  kid  glove  ! 

Yon  fought  for  freedom.     You  were  brave, 
I  grant  it.     Even  now  you  rave 

Of  subjugation. 

Yet  you  are  subject  of  a  queen, 
Whose  power  greater  is,  I  ween, 

Than  Yankee  nation. 

Yes,  e'en  the  touch  of  her  small  hand 
Is  equal  to  a  stern  command, 

Because  you  love. 
You  walk  submissive  in  her  band, 
And  when  you  cannot  hold  her  hand, 

You  hold  her  glove. 


64  "  THAT   GLOVE." 

I  do  not  judge  thee — go  thy  way. 
I  have  a  glove — (what  can  I  say  ?) 

And  I  adore  it. 

Ah  !  often  in  the  hours  for  sleep, 
I  kiss  the  glove,  and  sadly  weep 

For  one  who  wore  it. 


•WAIL    OF   THE    DIVORCED.  65 


WAIL    OF    THE    DIVORCED. 

"T    TOW  can  I  give  thee  up,  my  child,  my  dearest, 

earliest  born, 
While  fond  hopes  are  'round  thee  clustered,  like 

bright  clouds  o'er  morning's  dawn  ? 
Xo,  I  will  not  leave  thee,  darling  ;  thou  at  least 

shall  never  say 
That  no  tender  hand  did  guide  thee  through  the 

cares  of  childhood's  day. 

My  child  !  when  first  thy  mother  heard  thy  feeble, 

first-born  wail, 
Love's  tide  came  rushing  through  the  heart,  I 

thought  encased  in  mail. 
For  the  few  years  of  my  young  life  had  been  scenes 

of  mirth  and  woe, 
For  I  grasped  the  pleasures,  darling,  grasped  them, 

ere  I  let  them  go  ! 


66  WAIL   OF   THE    DIVORCED. 

E'eu  the  brightest  days  of  summer  have  their  sun- 
shine and  their  showers ; 

And  the  piercing  thorn  will  wound  us,  as  we  pluck 
the  fairest  flowers  ; 

But  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  makes  us  glory  ii: 
the  pain, 

And  exulting  in  the  sunshine,  we  forget  the  chilling 


I  know  'twould  break  my  aching  heart  to  leave 

thee,  precious  one  ! 
How  can  they  brand  me  with  a  curse — what  have 

I  ever  done  ? 
I  know  that  I  have  never  sent  a  sister  down  to 

shame, 
By  casting  blots  of  foulest  sin  upon  a  snow-white 

name. 

Have  charity,  have  charity,  my  child,  for  every  sin — 
For  the  sore  temptation,  darling,  may  all-powerful 
liave  been  ; 


WAIL   OF   THE   DIVORCED.  67 

And  always  lend  a  helping  hand  to  those  who 

chance  to  fall  ; 
Forgive,  forget,  be  ready  to  obey  your  Saviour's 

call. 

Learn,  learn,   my  child,  and  ne'er  forget,  learn 

while  thou  art  still  young, 
That  he  will  have  the  truest  friends,  who  bridleth 

his  tongue. 
Speak  well  of  all,  if  aught  you  know  of  evil,  or 

of  ill ; 
Deep  in  thy  bosom  let  it  rest,  and  keep  the  scandal 

still. 

My  baby,  should  you  ever  choose  a  partner  for 

this  life, 

Oh,  darling,  ever  strive  to  be  a  fond,  devoted  wife  ; 
And  never  let  thy  husband's  name  be  spoken  but 

in  praise  ; 
For  some  will,  if  you  let  them,  sadly  misconstrue 

his  ways. 


68  WAIL   OF   THE   DIVORCED. 

Seek  not  happiness  in  pleasure,  for  the  dregs  of 

every  cup 
Are  so  bitter,  darling,  bitter,  as  we  quaff  the 

latest  sup  ! 
And  never  seek,  my  child,  to  win  the  laurel  wreath 

of  fame, 
Unless  thou  hast  a  heart  to  bear  the  world's  taunts, 

even  shame. 

Kind,  noble,  generous,  they  will  give  thy  sister  to 

me,  dear : 
But  I  must  leave  thee,  child,  and  seek  a  home 

away  from  here. 
Ah  !  I  defy  them  to  the  last ;  they  shall  not  part 

us,  child 
And  thy  mother's  hand  shall  rear  thee — rear  thee, 

pure  and  undefiled  ! 

May  the  fond  prayers  of  thy  mother  prove  a  love- 
protecting  shield 

From  each  sorrow,  and  each  harrowing  care,  that 
life  doth  ever  yield. 


WAIL    OF   THE   DIVORCED.  69 

And  may  the  hand  of  love,  my  child,  pluck  thorns 

from  thy  bright  flowers  ; 
And  may'st  thou  find  a  home  at  last  in  heaven's 

celestial  bowers. 


70  THE   OPIUM-EATER. 


THE    OPIUM-EATER. 

[Before  taking  a  dose.'} 

~|~  IFE'S  pathway  to  me  is  dreary  ; 
I  am  ill,  and  cold,  and  weary  : 
Would  my  lonely  walk  were  done, 
And  my  heavenly  race  begun  ! 

Once  all  things  to  me  were  bright, 
Things  that  now  seem  dark  as  night : 
Is  the  darkness  all  within  ? 
Dark  without  from  inward  sin  ? 

The  present  dark ;  eyes  dim  with  age 
Can  see  no  joy,  save  memory's  page. 
The  present,  future,  ne'er  can  be 
Bright  as  the  past  they  once  did  see. 


THE    OPIUM-EATER.  71 

My  hair  is  turning  quite  grey  now  ; 
I  see  some  wrinkles  on  my  brow  ; 
My  teeth — they  must  be  failing  too, — 
And  corns  are  growing  in  my  shoe. 

I  muffle  up  my  aching  face, 
And  pray  from  pangs  a  moment's  grace. 
Ah  !  now  the  misery  seeks  my  head — 
Would  I  were  with  the  pangless  dead  ! 

There  is  a  cure  for  pain  and  grief — 
Come,  Opium,  come  to  my  relief  I 
Soothed  by  thy  influence,  I  shall  find 
A  moment's  rest,  and  peace  of  mind. 

[After  taking  a  dose.] 

Ah  !  now  I  sit  in  bowers  of  bliss, 
Soothed  by  an  angel's  balmy  kiss  I 
Delicious  languor  o'er  me  stealing 
Is  now  my  only  sense  of  feeling. 


THE   OPIUM-EATER. 

The  breath  of  flowers  perfumes  the  air  ; 
The  forms  around  are — oh,  so  fair  ! 
The  once  cold  air  seems  warm  and  bright, 
And  I,  too,  seem  a  being  of  light. 

My  hair  is  not  so  very  grey- 
Some  dye  will  take  that  hue  away  ; 
A  little  powder  shall,  I  vow, 
Hide  the  small  wrinkles  on  my  brow. 

My  teeth  are  sound — I  feel  no  pain — 
Their  slight  ache  was  but  sign  of  rain  ; 
And  then  the  twinging  of  my  feet 
Was  nothing  but  a  dream,  a  cheat. 

To  me,  the  night,  though  dark,  seems  day, 
Colored  by  Hope's  most  beauteous  ray  : 
Xo  sorrow  hence  shall  give  me  pain — 
I  know  I'll  never  weep  again  ! 


LITTLE    BELL.  T3 


LITTLE    BELL. 


TT^  YEXIXG  came,  a  child  was  missing, 
-*— ^     Where  she  was,  we  could  not  tell, — 
Hiding,  thought  we,  just  for  mischief ; 
Fall  of  fun  was  little  Bell. 


Soon  we  found  the  little  darling, 

Hiding  in  a  grassy  dell ; 
All  alone  ?     No,  gentle  angels 
Kept  safe  guard  o'er  little  Bell. 

Her  sweet  chubby  cheek  was  resting 
On  her  little  dimpled  hands  ; 

While  her  sunny  curls  were  shining 
On  her  brow,  in  goWen  bands. 


74  LITTLE    BELL. 

Silken  eyelids  softly  closing 

O'er  the  dancing  eyes  of  bine, 
Kept  the  envious  stars  from  seeing 
Earth  can  have  her  diamonds  too. 


A  stick  for  gun  and  flag  of  bonnet 
By  her  on  the  grass-bed  lay  ; 

Ah,  poor  Bell,  our  cruel  warfare 

Came  to  naught,  like  children's  play. 

Naught,  alas  !  but  blood  and  sorrows, 
By  each  hearth  a  vacant  place  ; 

Years  of  joy  can  not  redeem  us 
As  a  nation  from  disgrace. 

Gentle  be  thy  life's  sweet  slumbers  ; 

Purity  in  thy  heart  dwell ; 
Every  blessing  rest  upon  thee — 

Is  my  prayer  for  little  Bdl. 


WEARINESS.  75 


WEARINESS. 

II,  is  there  no,  no  place  on  earth 
Where  weary  souls  can  rest  ? 
Are  none  who  spring  from  mortal  birth 
With  perfect  bliss  e'er  blest  ? 


A 


Or  shall  we  be  forever  longing — 
Be  with  wants  and  wishes  filled  ; 

Craving  things  to  earth  belonging, 

Not  the  things  that  God  hath  willed  ? 

Oh  !  how  weary,  weary,  weary, 

And  how  long  doth  seem  the  day, 

When  too  sad,  and  lone  and  dreary, 
Plod  we  on  our  toilsome  way  ? 


76  WEARINESS. 

With  not  one,  not  one  to  lore  us, 
How  can  we  of  bliss  e'er  dream  ? 

Of  the  blissful  heaven  above  as 
Can  we  ever  catch  a  gleam  ? 

Can  we  long  endure  such  sorrow 
Without  longing  for  the  day — 

Praying  God  that  ere  the  morrow 
We  may  pass  from  earth  away  ? 

Is  there  even  one,  a  mortal, 

Who  content  with  life's  sad  store 

Would  retreat  from  heaven's  blest  portal, 
And  return  to  earth  once  more  ? 


ONLY  A   BLUSH.  17 


ONLY   A    BLUSH. 


a  blush  !     O'er  the  cheek  it  swept, 
In  a  tint,  but  a  shade  more  bright, 
While  over  the  forehead  the  soft  glow  crept, 
Like  Aurora's  roseate  light. 

Only  a  blush  !     'Twas  a  single  word 
That  the  heart's  deep  fountain  woke, 

And  in  turbulent  gushes,  its  depths  were  stirred, 
For  the  lips  were  loved  that  spoke. 

Only  a  blush  !     Yet  the  glow  revealed 
That  she  loved  him,  and  with  pride 

In  the  armor  of  many  a  conquest  steel'd, 
He  lingered  near  her  side, 


78  ONLY    A   BLUSH. 

And  breathed  into  her  credulous  ear, 

In  the  whim  of  an  idle  hour, 
Vows  never  forgotten  by  those  who  hear 

When  subjected  to  Love's  cruel  power. 

Only  a  blush  !     Long  it  lingered  there 

And  assumed  a  hectic  token, 
When  the  vows  that  woke  it  had  vanished  in  air, 

And  the  maiden's  heart  was  broken. 


A    KISS. 

A      KISS  ?     Pray  tell  me,  what  is  in  a  kiss, 
-"-  That  it  should  be  the  ultimate  of  bliss  ? 
I've  tried  it,  and  in  vain  ;  I  cannot  see 
Why  so  much  sought  for  a  mere  kiss  should  be. 

I  wish  I  knew  wherein  lies  the  delight, 
The  smacking  part  !     What's  in  that  to  excite  ? 
Or  drinking  souls  from  lips,  as  lovers  do — 
Ah,  let  me  see — and  did  I  try  that  too  ? 

I  have  convinced  myself  it  must  be  good, 
When  people  kiss  each  other  as  they  should  ; 
A  mouth  with  rosy  lips  and  a  moustache 
Together  met,  knock  reason  "  all  to  smash." 


80  KINDNESS. 


o 


KINDNESS. 

NE  single  word  of  heartfelt  kindness, 
Oft  is  worth  a  mine  of  gold, — 

Yet  how  oft,  we,  in  our  blindness, 
The  most  precious  wealth  withhold. 

Like  soft  dews  on  thirsting  flowers, 
It  revives  the  drooping  heart ; 

And  its  magical  blest  showers 
Is  the  soul's  best  healing  art. 

Oh  !  however  sad  and  lonely 

Life's  dark,  sterile  path  may  be, 

One,  one  single  kind  word  only 
Causeth  all  its  gloom  to  flee. 


81 


How  can  we  know  of  the  troubles 
That  must  rack  another's  soul, 

All  must  know  that  empty  bubbles 
Of  Life's  cares  o'er  all  heads  roll. 


Then  forgiving  and  forgetting, 
Let  for  aye  the  kind  word  fall, 

Only  our  own  sins  regretting 
With  a  charity  for  all. 

Then  this  life  will  be  a  pleasure, 
When  we  all  speak  words  of  love 

For  we  know  our  earthly  measure 
"Will  be  more  than  filled  above. 


CHILD-LIFE. 


CHILD    LIFE. 

T~  IKE  the  cadence  of  an  old  love  song, 
-^  Borne  on  a  zephyr's  wings  along, 
Fading 

and  dying, 

Then  sounding  again, 

Touching  the  heart  with  its  mournful  strain, 
Tearing  my  soul  from  its  worldly  strife, 
Came  a  dream  or  vision  of  life,  child-life. 

Me  thought  the  heart  of  a  child  stood  bare, 
And  I  saw  all  human  passions  there, 
Urging 

and  surging 

Like  waters  grand, 

Hurled  by  the  mselstrom's  mighty  hand, 
While  the  billows  dashed  with  a  sullen  sound, 
And  scattered  the  foaming  spray  around. 


CHILD-LIFE.  83 

Twas  a  tiny  seed  in  its  embryo  state, 

Yet  I  saw  there  the  germs  of  love  and  hate — 

Loving 

and  hating  ! 

Together  they  stood, 

Strange  that  the  evil  should  rest  by  the  good ! 
Oh  !  would  that  to  mortals  was  granted  the  meed 
To  cherish  the  flower,  but  pluck  out  the  weed  ! 


Faith,  Hope  and  Charity,  all  were-  there, 
Ambition,  revenge,  dark  revenge,  and  despair, 
Doubting 

and  wondering, 

I  touched  a  small  sore, 

And  the  heart  of  the  child  was  enveloped  in  gore. 
'Twas  a  slight  disappointment  that  brought  forth 

the  blood, 
For  a  sire's  broken  promise  disturbed  the  deep 

flood. 


84  CHILD-LIFE. 

All  1  I  covered  my  eyes  to  shut  out  the  sad  sight, 
For  the  face  of  the  child  was  as  dark  as  the  night 
Craving 

and  praying 

That  knowledge  to  find 
A  rest  for  the  weary,  a  balm  for  the  mind. 
With  Faith  I  looked  up,  and  the  child's  face  was 

fair; 
ITope's  flower  had  blossomed  through  blood  and  by 

prayer. 


And  as  the  dream-vision  was  passing  away, 
Through  the  deep  silence  reigning  I  heard  a  voice  say, 
Receive 

and  believe, 

Thou,  a  mother  of  youth, 

Oh !  doubt  not  this  vision,  thou  knowest  its  truth  ! 
Thou  knowest  that  virtues  and  passions  are  rife 
Tn  the  beautiful  morning  of  life,  child-life. 


CHILIMJFE.  85 

Beware  how  thou  touchest  its  heart  cords  wrong, 
For  the  virtues  are  weak  and  the  vices  are  strong. 
Gently 

and  tenderly, 

"Wake  the  sweet  strain, 

Touch  pleasure  and  peace,  and  no  discord  will  reign. 
Thou  hast  seen,  oh  my  daughter,  that  each  child 

of  earth 
Doth  emulate  manhood,  yes,  e'en  at  its  birth. 

Then  deal  with  it  lovingly,  let  the  dream  last, 
When  comes  a  deep  sorrow,  the  child-life  is  past. 
Softly 

and  sweetly — 

Like  light  falling  ram, 
Then  dying  away  as  JEolian  strain, 
The  dream-vision  vanished,  I  heard  still  the  voice, 
Group  no  longer  in  darkness,  in  thy  knowledge 

rejoice. 

I  woke,  and  the  sun  newly  born,  grand  and  bright, 
Hud  flooded  my  room,  and  my  soul  with  its  light. 


86  EVANISHIXGS. 


EVAXISHIXGS. 

LARLIXG,  how  long  before  this  breath 

will  cease  ? 

How  long  before  my  soul  shall  have  sweet  peace  ? 
I  am  so  weary,  that  I  fain  would  rest, 
Would  rest  forever  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Ah  !  let  me  gaze  once  more  upon  the  earth, 
So  gay,  so  bright,  so  full  of  joy  and  mirth. 
The  song-birds  sing,  and  bright  flowers  bloom  for  me, 
And  night's  pure  stars  shine  on  me  lovingly  : 

Earth  is  all  brightness,  still  I  fain  would  go 
Where  all  is  real,  where  joy  ne'er  turns  to  woe, 
Where  this  frail  body  will  be  free  from  pain, 
Where  we  shall  meet,  no  more  to  part  again. 


EVANISHINGS.  81 

'Tis  dark  here,  father  !     Oh,  weep  not  for  me, 
For  Heaven  is  light  through  all  Eternity. 
In  the  pure  garland  of  her  Saviour's  love 
Your  bud  will  shed  her  fragrance  far  above. 

Oh,  mother  !     Think  I've  only  gone  before, — 
My  sisters  !     That  we  soon  shall  meet  once  more. 
Weep  not  for  me  !  my  heart  is  passing  light, 
I'll  rest  to-morrow  robed  in  spotless  white. 

Speak  louder  !  for  my  earthly  senses  fail — 
Terrestrial  things  before  my  dim  sight  pale. 
Celestial  visions  meet  my  fading  sight ; 
I  hear  sweet  music  in  the  realms  of  light. 

And  thou,  beloved,  who  art  near  my  side — 
But  one  short  month  and  I  had  been  thy  bride. 
How  can  I  leave  thee  ?    'Tis  my  Saviour's  voice, 
He  would  espouse  me — fainting  heart,  rejoice. 


88  EVAXISHIXGS. 

Farewell  to  all,  a  long  and  last  farewell  1 
The  angels  call  me  where  immortals  dwell  ! 
"With  a  sweet  smile  she  breathed  her  latest  breath, 
And  thus  our  darling  triumphed  over  death. 


LIFE    FOR   A    LIFE.  89 


LIFE    FOR    A    LIFE. 

?r~TUS  but  a  phantom  of  the  weary  brain, 

An  image  wrought  by  sleepless  nights  of 

pain — 

I  know  'tis  false,  as  false  as  earth  can  be, 
Thy  hand,  my  son,  from  blood  of  man  is  free. 

Ah  !  ha  !     Thou  shrinkest,  oh,  my  son  !  my  son  ! 
If  thou  art  guilty  then  am  I  undone  ! 
Still  thou  art  mine,  a  widow's  only  child  ; 
Some  subtle  serpent  has  thy  heart  beguiled. 

Plead  for  thee,  boy  ?  ay,  give  my  life  for  thine — 

A  mother's  love  is  holy,  pure,  divine. 

I  will  away,  to  Cromwell  will  I  hie, 

And  save  thee,  boy,  ay,  save  or  with  thee  die  ! 


90  LIFE   FOR   A    LIFE. 

With  brow  unbent,  grim  Cromwell  stood 

Within  the  Council  Hall, 
Vouchsafing  scarce  the  slightest  glance 

Upon  the  form  to  fall 
Of  her  who  pleaded  for  the  boon 

Most  precious  earth  can  give. 
"  Life  for  a  life,"  old  Cromwell  said. 

She  pleaded,  let  him  live. 
No  eloquence  so  powerful  as  eloquence  of  love, 
It  melts  the  frozen  fountain  and  the  hardest  heart 

can  move. 
Let  me  go  back,  the  woman  cried,  to  happy  days 

of  yore  ! 
That  wayward  boy  you  doom  to  death  is  a  young 

child  once  more. 
See,  see  his  bright  and  sunny  curls  now  cradled  on 

my  breast ! 
Again  I  sing  sweet  lullaby  and  soothe  my  babe  to 


LIFE   FOR   A   LIFE.  91 

Sleep,  darling,  sleep, 

Thy  mother's  near, 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep, 

Thou  knowest  no  fear. 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep, 

Upoa  niy  breast  ; 
Sleep,  darling,  sleep, 

Sweet  be  thy  rest. 

Cromwell,  your  heart  is  hard,  they  say,  but  you 

have  children  too ; 
War's  tide  may  turn,  you  too  may  plead  for  some 

life  dear  to  you. 
Then  let  your  better  nature  act,  oh,  let  my  son  go 

free, 
And  daily  prayers  by  me  and  mine  shall  soar  aloft 

for  thee. 

His  features  soften  ;  does  his  heart  relent  towards 

my  son  ? 
I  will  another  picture  draw,  then  is  my  pleading 

done  : 


92  LIFE   FOR   A   LIFE. 

See,  Cromwell,  see,  upon  the  lawn,  my  curly  headed 

boy, 
He  knows  not  he  is  fatherless,  my  blessed,  only 

joy- 
See  how  he  gambols  !  how  can  he  know  aught  of 

my  deep  grief  ? 
Tears,  scalding  tears  pour  from  mine  eyes,  to  give 

my  heart  relief. 
Ah,  now  he  rushes  to  my  side,  and  wipes  away  a 

tear: 
Oh,  weep  not,  mother,  for  my  sire,  for,  mother,  I 

am  here. 

Soon,  very  soon  I'll  be  a  man  ;  and  then  I'll  work 

for  you — 
But  I   am  little    now,   mamma,   and  what  can 

children  do  ? 
Now  all  forgetful  of  my  grief,  he  playful  leaves  my 

side — 
You  cannot  slay  my  only  son,  my  darling  and  my 

pride! 


LIFE    FOR   A   LIFE.  93 

"  Life  for  a  life,"  again  he  said,  yet  hurried  a  tear 

to  hide  ; 
Then  gazing  from   the   casement   low,  his  cheek 

flashed  in  its  pride. 
The  pleader's  eye  had  followed  his,  to  where  his 

mother  stood, 
Well  might  the  conqueror  be  proud  of  one  so  pure 

and  good  ! 

The  doomed  man's  mother  grasped  his  arm  ;  thy 

mother,  Cromwell,  see  ! 
Perchance  the  time  may  come,  stern  man,  she  may 

thus  plead  for  thee. 
"  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,"  hath  said  the 

Lord  thy  King — 
Spare,  spare  my  child,  and  blessings  rare  upon  thy 

household  bring. 

"  Life  for  life," — then  spare  my  son,  and,  Cromwell, 

let  me  die  ; 
A  mother's  love  will  brave  all  earth,   and  even 

death  defy. 


94  LIFE   FOR   A    LIFE. 

The  warrior  in  his  fancy  saw  his  mother's  bended 

knee, 
Tearing  her  gray  hairs  in  her  grief,  yet  all  unheard 

her  plea. 

His  stern  heart  softened,  and  his  eye  betrayed  the 

pitying  gleam 
Which  brightened  his  harsh,  stern  old  face,  like  a 

celestial  beam. 
Go,  woman,  go,  thy  prayer  is  heard,  and  thy  dear 

son  shall  live  ! 
This  time  shall  mercy,  justice  rule,  and  I  for  once 

forgive. 


APPLE   DUMPLINGS.  95 


APPLE   DUMPLINGS. 

BY  REQUEST. 

aAZE  not  upon  my  outside,  friend, 
With  scorn  or  with  disgust — 
Judge  not,  until  you  condescend 
To  look  beneath  the  crust. 

Rough  and  unsightly  is  my  shell, 
But  you  just  dues  will  render  ; 

And  to  the  world  the  truth  will  tell, 
And  say  my  heart  is  tender. 

The  young  may  scorn  my  olden  ways, 
With  their  new-fashioned  notions  ; 

The  old  the  insult  soon  repays 
By  claiming  double  portions. 


APPLE   DUMPLINGS. 

'Tis  true,  like  modern  Misses,  gay, 
The  truth  is  sad,  distressing  ! 

But  I  must  now  say  out  my  say — 
I  need  a  little  dressing  ! 

My  sauce,  my  rich  apparel,  hides 
My  ugly  form  from  sight ; 

The  goodness  of  my  heart,  besides, 
Will  always  come  to  light. 

Then  judge  not  by  the  surface,  dear  ; 

Look  deeper  at  the  heart : 
Above  the  faults  of  earth  appear 

Beneath  the  better  part.      , 


LIFE. 

T  IFE  ?    What  is  life  but  fleeting  bliss, 
-"•^     As  transient  as  a  lover's  kiss, 

Or  like  a  flower 

Of  beauty  and  of  fragrance  rare 
Which  blooms,  then  vanishes  in  air, 

In  one  short  hour. 

Unlike  the  flower,  the  soul  will  bloom, 
Transplanted  far  above  earth's  gloom, 
By  God's  vast  power. 

Life?     What  is  life?    'Tis  but  a  dream 
Of  weal  or  woe,  a  lightning's  gleam, 

That  fades  away. 

Yet  leaves  its  impress  on  the  mind — 
Some  tie  that  memory  will  bind 


9S 


With  Love's  warm  ray  : 
Or,  like  the  fiery  subtle  light, 
The  thoughts  of  its  destroying  blight 

May  last  for  aye. 

Life  ?    What  is  life  ?    A  morning  mist, 
Which  vanishes  when  e'er  'tis  kissed 

By  Sol's  rays  bright ; 
'Tis  but  a  silver-tinted  cloud, 
Which  floats  so  beautifully  proud 

In  realms  of  light. 
But  gaze  beneath  the  silver  crest, 
You  find,  deep  buried  in  its  breast, 

Storms  dark  as  night. 

Life?    What  is  life?    Hopes,   bright   hopes 

wrecked  ; 
Desire  curbed,  ambition  checked, 

By  earthly  scorn. 

Vows,  sacred  vows,  too  lightly  spoken  ; 
Hearts  filled  with  joy,  neglected,  broken, 


Till  at  each  dawn 

The  victim  sighs  for  death's  release — 
For  with  death  will  all  troubles  cease, 

And  peace  is  born. 

Life  ?    What  is  life  ?    A  heaving  sea, 
Which  take  us  to  Eternity  ; 

Its  billows,  Time 

Upon  whose  waves  our  barks  are  mann'd, 
By  God's  all-powerful  command, 

To  other  clime, — 

Perchance  our  goal  is  land  of  night, 
Or  we  may  take  the  form  of  light 

In  realms  sublime. 

Life  ?  what  is  life  ?  that  we  should  grieve 
The  transient  pomps  of  earth  to  leave, 

When  we  must  see 
That  flowers  bloom  to  fade  away — 
That  joys  last  not,  for  e'en  a  day. 


100 


That  pleasures  flee  : 
"We  know  that  in  the  land  above 
We  shall  redeemed  by  hand  of  love 

All  perfect  be. 

Then  gladly  should  our  souls  rejoice 
To  hear  our  dear  Redeemer's  voice 

Call  us  away. 

Glad  to  exchange  this  land  of  night — 
This  land  of  sorrow  and  of  blight — 

For  endless  day ; 

"Where,  clothed  in  robes  of  spotless  white, 
We'll  live  in  realms  of  boundless  light, 

For  aye,  and  aye. 


THE   SIGNAL   GUN.  101 


THE    SIGNAL    GTJN. 

OOFTLY  now  the  day  is  dawning, 
^^^     Song-birds  sing  the  lays  of  morning  ; 
All  else  around  is  calm  and  still, 
Except  the  picket  on  the  hill. 

Now  where  once  the  morning  breeze 
Sweetly  floated  through  the  trees  ; 
Grim  earth-batteries  rear  on  high 
Their  ghastly  heads  up  to  the  sky. 

From  morning's  light  to  evening  shades 
We  dwell  in  dread  of  martiral  raids  ; 
With  faith  we  trust  protecting  power 
Will  shelter  us  iu  this  dark  hour. 


102  THE   SIGNAL  GUN. 

Listen  !  now  the  signal-gun 
Tells  the  picket's  work  is  done  ; 
Xo  more  will  he  watch  and  wait — 
Stands  he  now  at  heaven's  gate. 
Yes,  the  picket's  race  is  run, 
And  his  heavenly  life  begun. 


ALL    ALONE.  103 


ALL    ALONE. 


A    ND  shall  we  ever  seek  in  vain, 
-          In  this  cold  world  of  ours, 
The  love  of  kindred  heart  to  gain 

To  rouse  our  latent  powers  ? 
Or  shall  our  hearts  forever  mourn 
All  alone  ? 


Upon  the  silvery  moon  I  gaze 
And  the  bright  gems  of  night  ; 

And  from  their  loving,  tender  rays, 
My  soul  imbibes  God's  light. 

Why  to  me  is  that  radiance  borne 
All  alone  ? 


104  ALL    ALONE. 

I  fed  each  gentle,  soothing  word — 
The  perfume  of  the  flower — 

The  thrilling  music  of  the  bird — 
The  twilight's  quiet  hour  : 

And  sigh  to  think  these  joys  mine  own, 
All  aloue. 

Once  in  my  early  youth  I  thought 
That  answered  was  my  prayer  ; 

Alas  !  experience  soon  taught 
Twas  but  a  dream  so  fair  : 

In  heaven,  blest  heaven,  I  shall  not  mourn 
All  alone  ! 


UPON  RECEIPT  OF  A  POUND  OF  COFFEE  IN  18G3.     105 

UPOX    RECEIPT    OF    A    POUND    OF 
COFFEE  IX   1863. 


nr^HE  sight  of  the  coffee  was  good  for  sore  eyes, 
For  I  have  not  learned  yet  its  worth  to 


I  welcomed  each  grain  as  I  culled  with  care  o'er, 
A  nd  in  fancy  increased  it  to  ten  thousand  more. 

I  put  it  on  fire,  and  stirred  round  and  round, 
Then  took  it  off  gently  when  it  was  quite  browned  ; 
When  cool  I  proceeded  to  fill  up  my  mill, 
And  ground  up  a  boiling  with  very  good  will. 

I  measured  three  spoons  full,  you  see,  for  us  three — 
The  old  Lady  Lane,  my  Grand-mother  and  me  ; 
I  added  some  water,  then  put  it  to  boil, 
And  stood  close  by,  watching,  for  fear  it  might  spoil. 


106      UPON  RECEIPT  OF  A  POUND  OF  COFFEE  IN  1863. 

I  put  cream  and  sugar  in  three  of  our  cups, 
Then  poured  out  our  coffee,  and  took  some  good  sups. 
I  thought  of  the  Turk,  sitting  on  his  curled  knees, 
And  was  sure  that  our  coffee,  his  Lordship  would 
please. 


It  spoiled  me,  and  now  I'm  beginning  to  think, 
When  that  coffee  gives  out,  what  the  mischief  I'll 

drink  ; 

I  must  get  some  coffee — beg,  borrow,  or  steal — 
For  after  that  Java,  I  can't  drink  parched  meal ! 

Thus  down  to  the  bottom  we  drank  your  good 

health  ! 

May  God  shower  o'er  you  of  blessings  a  wealth  : 
May  you  never  want  for  good  coffee  and  tea — 
And,  friend,  in  your  buying,  remember  poor  me  ! 


MRS.  MYRICK'S  LECTURE.  107 

MRS.    MYRICK'S    LECTURE. 

OU  know,  dear,  that  this  vicious  world  is 


Y 

ever  prone  to  see, 


Most  glaring  faults  and  blemishes,  in  even  purity  ; 
And  thus,  my  dear,  a  shade  of  black  will  much  the 

darker  show, 
Should  it  chance  to  be  embedded  in  the  virgin 

white  of  snow. 

The  modest  floweret  of  the  wood  that's  born  to 

blush  unseen, 
May  all  its  simple  defects  hide  with  its  own  veil 

of  green  ; 
But  woe  betide  the  stately  rose,  the  pride  of  the 

parterre, 
Should  but  the  canker-spot  of  life  upon  its  leaves 

appear. 


108  MRS.  MVRICK'S  LECTURE. 

The  rose's  heart,  for  that  is  hid,  may  with  the 

blight  corrode  ; 
Have  faults,  but  ever  hide  them  well,  for  that  is 

a-la-mode ; 
Should  you  but  say  that  you  have  sinned — that  you 

are  but  a  mortal — 
The  world,  amazed,  will  scorning  cry,  "  she'll  ne'er 

see  heaven's  portal !" 

The  brittle  glass  of  character  will  have  stains  on  it 

cast 
By  malice  of  the  slanderous  world,  for  simple  faults, 

long  past ; 
No  matter  how  much  tempted,  or  how  pure  your 

heart  has  been, 
You're  wicked,  in  the  last  degree,  if  scandal  knows 

your  sin. 

Thank  God  !  repentant  sinners  are  not  judged  by 

those  of  earth, 
Or  they  would  never  be  redeemed  by  an  immortal 

birth. 


MRS.  STYRICK'S  LECTURE.  109 

Ah  !  He,  when  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  "  who 

doeth  all  things  well," 
Will  wipe  our  sorrowing  tears  away,  and  pains  of 

anguish  quell. 

See  the  flaw  in  this  bright  diamond  ;  were  it  but  a 

thing  of  glass, 
A  much  larger  flaw,  unnoticed,  would  before  the 

world's  eye  pass  ; 
Gaze  in  the  clearest  waters,  rocks  and  blemishes 

you  spy, 
That  in  less  clearer  streamlets  would  be  hidden 

from  your  eye. 

Be  not  offended  now,  my  dear,  at  counsel  from  a 

friend, 
Who  blessings  on  thy  youthful  head,  would  daily, 

hourly  send. 
Deep  in  your  heart  your  secrets  keep  ;  to  enemies 

be  civil ; 
And  oh,  be  careful,  and  avoid  appearances  of  evil. 


HO  TO    FAXKIE. 


TO    FANNIE. 


~YJTT"RITE  to  thine  eyes  ?     Why,  my  poor  peu 

Quails  at  the  unequal  task  ; 
I  fear  you  don't  appreciate 
The  mighty  boon  you  ask. 


Thine  eyes,  I  know,  oh  !  beautiful ! 

True  poets  would  inspire  ; 
But,  dear,  you  should  remember,  that 

I've  not  a  poet's  fire. 

But  still  at  thy  request  I  call 
My  sleeping  muse  to  me, 

To  write  a  sonnet  to  thine  eyes — 
Would  it  were  worthy  thee  I 


TO    FANNIE.  Ill 

Tender  and  loving,  soft  and  pure, 
They  pierce  the  heart  of  man  ; 

And  with  the  aid  of  Cupid's  darts, 
Maim  all  the  hearts  they  can. 

Bright  as  the  stars  in  yonder  sky, 

They  shine  for  all  on  earth  : 
So  sad  in  sorrow,  glad  in  joy, 

And  sparkling  in  their  mirth. 

They,  like  the  eyes  of  the  gazelle, 
Gaze  fondly  where  you  love  ; 

And  who  receives  such  gaze,  esteems 
Them  angels  from  above. 

Bright  as  the  light  of  long-sought  home 
To  pilgrims  o'er  earth's  way, 

Whose  footsteps  sore,  have  wandered  far, 
Through  weary  year  and  day. 


112  TO   FANNIE. 

The  light  of  love,  the  light  of  truth, 
From  thy  soft  eyes  e'er  beam  ; 

And  from  thy  heart,  so  kind  and  true, 
A  host  of  virtues  gleam. 


Now  if  this  sonnet,  Fannie,  dear, 

"Were  written  by  a  lover, 
A  thousand  charms  no  doubt  he'd  see, 

lhat  I  cannot  discover. 


I   AM   WEARY,    MOTHER.  113 


I   AM   WEARY,    MOTHER, 

T  AM  weary,  Mother,  and  I  fain  would  rest 

Beside  thee,  in  the  cold  and  silent  tomb — 
The  rayless  pathways  of  a  life  unblest, 
Are  dark,  beside  the  brightness  of  death's  gloom. 

I  place  my  hand  upon  the  marble  white 
Above  thee,  Mother,  and  it  chills  my  frame  ; 
Yet  'tis  not  cold  as  hearts  which  take  delight 
In  casting  stains  upon  a  once  fair  name. 

Few  summers,  Mother,  smiled  above  thy  head  ; 
Ere  thou  wast  chilled  by  breath  of  Azael's  wing, 
Love,  flowers  and  sunshine  brightness  o'er  thee 

shed, 
But  naught  had  power  immortal  life  to  bring. 


114  I    AM    WEARY,    MOTHER. 

My  life  has  been  one  checkered  scene  of  woe  ; 
True,  Spring  and  Summer  flowers  'round  me  cast — 
But  ah,  they  faded,  like  all  things  below — 
Bloomed  but  a  moment,  and  like  dreams,  were  past. 

Why  didst  thou  leave  me,  Mother  ?  thy  frail  child 
Had  not  the  strength  to  guide  her  bark  alone  ; 
Full  many  a  soul  by  false  lights  are  beguiled, 
But  few  are  safely  o'er  life's  breakers  borne. 

Ah  !  I  have  erred,  my  Mother ;  but  my  sin 
Upon  Him  rests,  whose  blood  all  guilt  redeems  ! 
My  heart  was  weak — but  who  is  pure  within  ? 
What  heart  untouched  by  sin's  dread,   seething 
gleams? 

But,  Mother,  I  have  left  me  some  bright  hours — 

I  revel  'mid  the  Barmacidian  feast  ! 

I  cull  imagination's  fairest  flowers  ; 

I  live  again,  with  Shepherds  in  the  East. 


I    AM    WEARY,    MOTHER.  115 

Oft  Cleopatra's  magic  wand  I  wield 
O'er  Anthony  and  Julius  Caesar's  reign — 
"With  Sheba's  queen,  to  Solomon  I  yield — 
And,  with  fair  Ruth,  I  glean  the  scanty  grain. 

With  Beatricia  Canci  now  I  sigh, 

The  helpless  victim  of  a  Father's  sin  ; 

In  loathsome  dungeons,  with  her  prey  to  die, 

And  weeping,  think  of  joys  which  might  have  been 

By  Eloise,  within  the  convent  cell, 
I  listen  for  my  Abelard's  loved  voice, 
Whose  every  cadence,  ah  !  I  know  full  well, 
Whose  softest  footsteps  make  my  heart  rejoice. 

Is  it  a  sin  to  dream  ?  to  live  once  more 
Among  remembered  nations  of  the  past — 
To  recall  those  who've  only  gone  before, 
And  live  beyond  the  reach  of  earth's  rude  blast  ? 


116  I    AM    WEARY,    MOTHER. 

The  future,  Mother,  hath  bright  charms  for  me  ; 
Not  on  this  earth,  but  in  my  home  above, 
Where  from  temptation,  sin,  and  sorrow  free, 
I'll  see  once  more  the  dear  ones  that  I  love. 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS.  117 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS. 


"A  /T  OTHER,  for  months  a  mist  has  been  before 

me, 

And  I  have  sought,  in  memory,  to  bind 

All  objects  loved,  ere  darkness  gathered  o'er  me, 

For  in  my  heart,  I  felt  I  would  be  blind. 


I  am  so  young,  my  Mother,  that  my  sorrow 
Is  fraught  with  bitter  anguish  of  despair  ; 

How  can  I  bear  to  think,  that  each  to-morrow 
Will  robe  in  darkness  all  earth's  beauties  rare  I 

I  feel  a  sunbeam,  Mother,  resting  on  me  ; 

I  take  the  omen  to  my  breaking  heart — 
For  thy  sweet  voice,  thy  loving  hand  upon  me, 

Will  to  thy  son  bright  rays  of  light  impart. 


118  LIGHT   IN   DARKNESS. 

'Tis  said  that  beauties,  Mother,  grow  still  fairer, 
When  looked  upon  through  vista  of  past  years, 

And  that  joy's  paintings  seem  still  brighter,  rarer, 
Their  colors  set  by  sorrow's  briny  tears. 

On  memory's  tablet,  Mother,  I  have  flowers 
More  beautiful  than  artist's  cherished  gems — 

And  bright  tipped  clouds  of  twilight  quiet  hours, 
More  prized  by  me  than  countless  diadems. 

And  trees  of  Autumn,  with  their  hues  e'er  changing, 
And  then  the  gentle  budding  green  of  Spring 

Will  keep  my  thoughts  from  ever,  ever  ranging 
To  leafless  boughs  that  winter's  blasts  e'er  bring 

And  I  have  faces  passing  sweet,  too,  Mother — 
More  holy  than  Corregio's  fair  saint ; 

Yes,  I  have  drawn  thy  image,  sister,  brother, 
And  thine  too,  Mother,  without  earthly  taint. 


LIGHT   IN"    DARKNESS.  119 

And,  Mother,  now  too  surely  I  am  dreaming  : 
Sweet  Lily's  eyes  will  soon  become  my  light, — 

Xo,  'tis  no  dream,  and  earth  with  joy  is  teeming, 
For  Lily  promised  to  be  mine  last  night. 


120  THE   HUMMING-BIRD. 


THE    HUMMIXG-BIRD. 

T  ENTERED  my  parlor  one  bright  summer  morn, 
My  vases  with  flowers,  sweet  flowers  to  adorn. 
In  arranging  the  curtains,  there  fell  on  my  head 
A  dear  little  humming-bird,  dead — quite  dead  ! 

I  pressed  the  poor  darling  so  close  to  my  heart, 
And  thought  that  I  felt  a  slight,  flutter,  a  start ! 
Could  I  but  restore  it  to  life,  how  divine, 
How  sweet,  how  delicious  a  joy  would  be  mine  ! 

I  rushed  to  the  garden  and  placed  its  long  mouth 
In  the  sweet  honey-suckle  which  blooms  in  the  South ; 
I  saw  that  the  humming-bird  drew  a  long  breath, 
As  it  tasted  the  nectar  that  saved  it  from  death  ! 


THE    HUMMIKG-BIRD.  121 

Tlie  minutes  flew  past,  yet  I  staid  in  the  bower, 
Aud  moved  my  poor  birdliug  from  flower  to  flower  ; 
At  last,  with  a  sweet  strain  of  grateful  heart's 

praise, 
It  flew  upward,  far  upward,  beyond  my  eyes'  gaze. 

Thus  when  you,  dear  children,  are  dying  in  sin — 
When  all  is  a  void  and  an  aching  within — 
Drink  deep  of  the  nectar  of  God's  holy  love, 
And  your  souls  will  be  wafted  to  mansions  above. 


122  THEE    SOLDIKR    BOY'S    DREAM. 


THE    SOLDIER    BOY'S    DREAM 


A     SOLDIER  boy  lay  dreaming 

In  his  lonely  prison  cell, 
While  the  stars  above  were  gleaming, 

And  their  lustre  on  him  fell. 
His  dreams  were  bright,  angels  of  light 

Were  hovering  o'er  his  head  ; 
'Twas  day  in  night,  the  spirit's  sight, 
The  living  of  sleep's  dead. 


On  wings  of  love  his  soul  was  borne 

By  the  celestial  band, 
Where  he  no  longer  mourned  alone, 

To  his  home  in  Southern  land. 


THE   SOLDIER   BOY'S   DREAM.  123 

He  roved  in  bowers,  amid  sweet  flowers 

Of  every  kind,  and  shade, — 
The  mock-bird's  note  thrilled  from  its  throat, 

And  music  filled  the  glade. 

His  noble  sire,  with  silver  hair, 

Again  stood  by  his  side  ; 
His  saintly  mother  breathed  a  prayer 

For  this  her  son,  her  pride. 
And  yet  again,  joy  deep  brings  pain  1 

His  Katy  meets  him  there — 
Stands  by  his  side,  his  promised  bride  ; 

Sweet  Katy,  pure  and  fair. 

Again  he  cools  his  fever'd  brain 

With  water  soft  and  clear, 
Whose  murmuring,  like  distant  rain, 

Falls  soothing  on  his  ear. 
And  now  a  stroke  the  silence  broke, 

The  wood-bird  seeks  his  prey, — 
Ah  !  'tis  not  dreams,  the  daylight  gleams, 

The  wood-bird's  strokes  still  stay. 


124  THE   SOLDIER   BOY's  DREAM. 

The  boy  sprang  to  his  window  small, 

Gazed  on  the  passing  night — 
A  new-made  gallows,  grim  and  tall, 

Loomed  to  his  eager  sight : 
In  his  despair,  he  tore  his  hair, 

And  cursed  the  craven  nation, 
Who  for  but  hate,  made  death  his  fate — 

Noble  retaliation  ! 

A  soft  hand  touched  the  stricken'd  boy, 

And  an  ^Eolian  yoice 
Bade  him,  in  accents  full  of  joy, 

To  follow,  and  rejoice  ! 
On  by  the  guards,  the  sleeping  guards, 

They  flew  like  silent  death, 
Without  a  sound  the  gate  they  found, 

Scarce  drawing  e'en  a  breath. 

Xow  the  dread  danger  all  is  o'er  ; 

He  turned  to  thank  his  guide  ; 
He  gazed  again  once  more,  once  more — 

No  one  stood  near  his  side. 


THE   SOLDIER   BOY'S   DREAM.  125 

Celestial  light  dawned  o'er  his  night, 
Earth  seemed  with  glory  bound, — 

Filled  him  with  joy,  the  blissful  joy 
Of  LIBERTY,  new  found. 


126 


H 


MINE. 

EH  eyes  are  bright  as  sparkling  s1 

And  as  the  violet  blue  ; 
In  them  celestial  beauty  lies, 

The  soul-light  flashing  through. 


No  painter,  how  e'er  great  his  skill, 

Can  imitate  her  hair  ; 
Naught  save  a  sunset  sea  of  gold 

Had  ever  shade  so  rare. 

The  lilies  with  pale  roses  blend, 
And  melt  upon  her  cheek — 

Her  carmine  lips  disclose  seed  pearls, 
When  e'er  they  ope  to  speak  ! 


MINE.  127 

Her  tiny  ear,  like  sea-side  shell, 
Pink-ting'd,  of  perfect  mould, 

A  moment  gleams,  then  disappears, 
Lost  hi  the  sea  of  gold. 

Ah,  should  you  see  my  birdie  blithe, 

In  some  lone  sylvan  dell, 
Yourd  think  she  was  a  fairy  child, 

Made  mortal  by  a  spell. 

Her  voice  !  ah,  never  tropic  bird 

Could  trill  so  sweet  a  glee  ; 
Nor  is  the  sad  JEolian  harp 

So  full  of  melody. 

My  birdie  speaks,  no  earthly  strain 

Could  thus  my  spirit  move, 
For  her  sweet  notes  pierce  through  my  heart, 

And  thrill  the  cords  of  love. 


128  MINE. 

For  this  fair  child,  this  fairy  bright, 
So  nearly  being  divine, 

To  me  is  sunshine,  hope  and  life — 
For  she  is  mine,  all  mine  ! 


129 


MISTLETOE. 

yonder  oak,  upon  its  lordliest  height, 
Is  fastened  the  destroying  parasite  ; 
His  mighty  arms  caress  his  fawning  foe, 
And  yield  their  life-sap  to  the  mistletoe. 

Through  bark,  through  wood,  the  fatal  roots 

extend  ; 

The  parasitic  verdure  seems  a  friend, 
Overspreading  the  gnarled  trunk  with  livelier 

green — 
Alas  !  decay,  and  death  soon  end  the  scene  ! 

First  dies  the  oak,  and  then  the  parasite 
Cannot  survive  its  royal  patron's  blight ; 
And  when  I  look  abroad  among  mankind, 
Close  semblance,  and  fit  moral  do  I  find. 


130  MISTLETOE. 

God  feared  that  poor,  weak  mortals  here  below 
By  chance  might  be  too  fond  of  earth's  vain  show 
In  hopes  to  draw  our  hearts  from  earth  to  heaven, 
The  monster  jealousy  to  us  was  given. 

Search  where  you  may,  this  wide,  wide  world  around, 
The  green-eyed  thing  in  every  house  is  found  ; 
In  truth,  it  bitters  every  sweet  of  life, 
And  creates  discord  between  man  and  wife. 

To  some  it  wears  the  winning  garb  of  love, 
And  seems  as  sweet  as  any  cooing  dove  : 
Look  closely,  and  perchance  you  can  discover 
The  thing  has  other  form  than  that  of  lover. 

To  sisters,  brothers,  fathers,  mothers  too, 
As  friend  it  goes,  and  seems  so  kind  and  true, 
That  they  would  fain  believe  all  that  it  says, 
And  take,  for  pattern,  its  own  nolle  ways. 


MISTLETOE.  131 

Like  mistletoe,  it  seems  so  green  and  bright, 
At  first  you'd  view  it  with  unfeigned  delight ; 
Examine  it  again,  and  you  will  see 
Its  nature  with  its  looks  does  not  agree. 


For  jealousy  from  out  the  tree  of  love 
Its  verdure  draws,  and  like  the  plant  above, 
The  roots,  instead  of  dying,  as  they  should 
With  age,  become  embedded  in  the  wood. 

And  thus  it  lives,  long,  weary  months  and  years, 
And  causes  sorrow,  guilt,  and  heartfelt  tears, — 
The  boisterous  winds  of  sorrow  bear  the  seed, 
And  plant  on  other  trees  the  loathsome  weed. 

Alas  !  in  mercy  sent,  no  tender  hand 
Can  take  this  parasite  from  our  good  land  ; 
It  stays,  and  from  its  birth-place  never  hies, 
Until  it  kills  the  tree,  and  then  it  dies. 


132  FAMILY   PORTRAITS. 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS. 


"TT^IYE  buds  were  on  the  parent  tree, 
-*-       But  God  took  one  away  ; 

"  This  flower  will  be  too  fair,"  said  He, 
"  Upon  this  earth  to  stay." 


And  now,  by  His  own  throne  above, 
Our  bud  is  blooming  fair  ; 

Twined  in  the  garland  of  His  love, 
Our  Prince  is  proud  to  wear. 

A  smaller  bud  now  groweth  there, 
Whose  red  we  just  descry — 

A  blithesome  child,  with  silken  hair, 
Gay  as  a  butterfly. 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS.  133 

With  joy  and  gladness  for  her  dower, 

And  always  on  the  whig, 
She  extracts  sweets  from  every  flower — 

For  her,  life  has  no  sting. 

***** 

My  Pet !  of  all,  I  love  tkce  best — 

Thou  child  of  noblest  mind, — 
Who  lov'st  me  more  than  all  the  rest, 

So  generous,  good  and  kind  ! 

Sweet  bud  !    Thou'rt  very  fair  to  me, 

Unfolding  day  by  day  ; 
From  sorrow  be  thou  ever  free, 

On  earth — long  be  thy  stay  ! 
***** 

And  still  another  opeueth  rare, 

Its  petals  now  unclose, 
More  lovely  far  beyond  compare 

Than  any  splendid  rose. 


134  FAMILY   PORTRAITS. 

Graceful  her  form,  as  willow  tree, 
Her  hair  of  sunny  hue  ; 

Face  fair  as  mortal  face  can  be, 
Her  eyes  of  heavenly  blue. 

Endowed  with  nature's  every  gift — 
With  beauty,  mind  and  health  ; 

Oh,  may  she  never  cast  adrift 
Such  store  of  Nature's  wealth  ! 


Transplanted  to  another  clime, 
The  eldest  bud  hath  bloomed  ; 

But  cankered  ere  the  opening  tune, 
Her  life  to  sorrow  doomed. 

Once,  thoughtless,  happy,  gay  and  bright, 

In  life's  young  opening  day, 
Till  the  fell  frost,  with  glittering  blight, 

Ate  her  young  heart  away. 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS.  135 

Now  she  awaits  her  Saviour's  voice, 

To  kindly  bid  her  come  ; 
Her  broken  heart  can  but  rejoice 

To  hear  the  summons  home  ! 


136  LINES   TO    AN    OLD   DRESS. 


LINES    TO    AN"   OLD    DRESS. 


A    LAS  !  the  time  has  come,  old  dress, 

When  you  and  I  must  part ; 
To  say  adieu,  my  valued  friend, 
Is  tearing  heart  from  heart. 


Long  years  have  passed  since  thou  wert  new, 

Long  years  of  war  and  crime  ; 
But  sight  of  thee  to  memory  brings 

The  olden  golden  time. 

I'd  braid  my  silken  tresses  smooth  ; 

Then  cast  thee  o'er  my  form, 
And  press  my  hand  upon  my  heart, 

To  quell  tumultuous  storm. 


LINES   TO    AN    OLD   DRESS.  137 

For  well  I  know  whose  eye  would  beam 

To  see  me  thus  arrayed  ; 
Twas  one  whose  gentle  tender  glance, 

His  love  for  me  betrayed. 

Old  dress,  dost  thou  remember  well 
That  beauteous  moon-light  night, 

When  the  hoped-for  truth  o'erwhelmed  my  heart, 
With  a  perfect  blaze  of  light  ? 

How  he  clasped  us  to  his  heart,  old  dress, 
And  he  vowed  beneath  the  stars, 

That  naught  in  heaven  could  us  divide — 
'Twas  registered  by  Mars. 

Ah,  the  Gods  but  mocked  us  then,  old  dress, 
With  a  short,  sweet  dream  of  bliss, 

That  vanished,  alas  !  from  our  mortal  sight, 
Like  the  dew  at  the  sun's  warm  kiss. 


138  LINES   TO   AN   OLD   DRESS. 

Jn  but  a  short  year  from  then,  old  dress, 
That  sudden  gleam  of  light 

Had  passed  away,  and  left  me  naught, 
But  the  darkness  of  midnight. 


For  Mars  laughed  at  our  arrogance, 
And  he  hurled  his  mighty  dart, 

And  my  love  lies  in  the  battle-field, 
And  broken  is  my  heart. 

Ah,  I  cannot  give  thee  up,  old  dress, 
For  thy  threads  are  links  of  chain, 

That  bind  my  memory  to  the  past — 
To  long  gone  joys  and  pain. 


THE  MOTHER'S  LAMENT.  139 


THE    MOTHER'S    LAMENT. 

UPON    THE    LOSS    OF    HER    CHILDREN'S    PHOTOGRAPHS 
AT    SEA. 

"TTAST  thou  no  mercy,  wind,  that  thou  should'st 
tear  from  me, 

All  that  is  left  me  of  my  loved — my  own  ? 
Thy  hand  is  human,  else  it  could  not  be 

With  weight  of  sorrow  in  my  poor  heart  borne. 

Two  clinging  vines,  trained  by  my  erring  hand, 
Two     rose-buds,    with    their    petals     scarce 
unclosing — 

See  how  they  float,  like  tiny  barks  well  manned, 
Now  like  a  bird  upon  the  wave  reposing. 

Mock  me  not,  waves  !    Why  on  your  flirting  spray, 
Toss  ye  my  precious  darlings  to  and  fro  ? 

Oh  !  save  them,  sailor,  ere  they  pass  away  ; 

Their  worth  to  me,  no  mortal's  soul  can  know. 


140  THE  MOTHER'S  LAMEXT. 

There  !  see  ye  not  their  fairy  brightness  gleaming, 
Like  stars  upon  the  darkness  of  the  night  ? 

See  that  fond  smile  upon  each  feature  beaming  ; 
Wave,  can  ye  thus  deprive  my  soul  of  light  ? 

On,  on  they  fly  !  too  late  !  the  ocean  cave 
Now  claims  among  her  jewels  two  rare  gems, 

Worth  thousands  such  as  Eastern  monarchs  crave, 
To  form  star-clusters  in  their  diadems. 


Whene'er  I  looked  into  those  faces  fair, 
Into  those  eyes  of  clear  celestial  blue, 

I  always  prayed,  and  felt  God  heard  my  prayer, 
That  for  their  sakes  I  might  be  good  and  true. 

Now  those  fair  faces  and  those  eyes  of  blue, 

No  more  will  daunt  me  with  their  pleading  gaze; 

The  deep  sea  hides  them  from  my  reckless  view, 
And  unrebuked  I'll  walk  in  worldly  ways. 


THE  MOTHER'S  LAMENT.  141 

No  !  not  unchecked  ;  when  sin's  allurements  fair, 
Tempt  me  to  err,  with  wily,  subtle  art, 

I  hear  sweet  voices  in  each  breath  of  air, 

"  See,  mother,  see  !  thy  children  in  thy  heart." 

Then  keep  my  jewels,  sea,  and  guard  them  well ; 

I  care  not,  wind,  for  your  revengeful  rage  ; 
My  babes  are  painted  by  love's  mystic  spell, 

In  colors  rare,  upon  fond  memory's  page. 


142  TO   FATHER. 


M 


TO    FATHER. 

Y  father  !  when  I  saw  thee  last, 

Thy  noble,  manly  form, 
"Was  unbent  by  the  cares  of  time — 
TJnshattered  by  life's  storm. 

The  raven  hair  around  thy  brow 
Was  scarcely  tinged  with  gray — 

While  the  bright  lustre  of  thine  eye 
Denied  old  age's  sway. 

Oft  in  my  dreams  I  see  thy  face, 
As  'twas  when  last  we  met ; 

If  we  should  never  meet  again, 
Thy  smile  I'll  ne'er  forget. 


TO    FATHER.  143 

My  father,  years  have  passed  siuce  then  ; 

Aye,  stern,  heart-breaking  years  ; 
And  we  have  each  been  made  to  feel 

Life's  sorrows,  and  life's  tears. 

^N"ow,  I  am  in  my  womanhood — 

They  say,  life's  glorious  page  ; 
And,  father,  I  regret  to  think, 

That  you  have  readied  old  age. 

Grieve  not,  grieve  not,  for  broken  buds, 

They'll  open  in  the  sky  ; 
In  bower  of  celestial  light, 

They'll  bloom,  and  never  die. 

Dear  father,  thou  hast  ever  been 

To  me,  thy  orphan  child, 
A  father  and  a  mother  too, 

Kind,  thoughtful,  just  and  mild. 


144  TO    FATHER. 

Then  grant  me,  father,  but  this  boon, 

Then  will  thy  child  be  blest- 
Let  me  watch  o'er  thy  latest  years, 
And  lay  thee  down  to  rest. 


i  AM  FASHION'S  TOY.  145 


I    AM    FASHION'S    TOY. 

LINES  WRITTEN  UPON  SEEING  A  FASHIONABLY-DRESSED 
LADY  ASK  A  SERVANT  FOR  A  FEW  BLADES  OF  GRASS, 
WHICH  SHE  PLACED  UPON  HER  BOS01I. 

/~\  H  !  give  to  me  of  the  bright  green  leaves, 

^•^     For  they  tell  me  of  the  past ; 
"When  I  roved  at  will  mid  the  golden  sheaves — 
And  my  heart  it  wildly,  madly  grieves, 

And  it  throbs  so  painfully  fast, 
As  I  think  of  the  days  of  peace  and  joy 
That  forever  are  gone — I  am  fashion's  toy. 

Yes,  the  modeste  decks  my  raven  hair, 

In  many  a  shape  and  coil — 
And  she  dyes  my  cheek  with  the  carmine  rare, 
And  she  makes  my  brow  as  the  lily  fair, 


146  I    AM    FASHION  S   TOY. 

And  they  tell  me,  for  beauty  I  can  compare 

With  the  daughters  of  eastern  soil  ; 
Yet,  I  sigh  when  I  smile  in  my  empty  joy, 
For  I  know,  alas  !  I  am  fashion's  toy. 

My  form  is  stately,  and  full  of  pride — 

And  the  high  of  the  land  linger  near  my  side, 

Yet  as  they  fawning  bow, 
My  heart  flows  back  on  sweet  memory's  tide, 
And  I  forget  they  are  near  my  side, 

And  the  past  seems  to  me  now. 
Then  I  dream  of  the  sweets  that  could  not  cloy, 
For  a  moment  forget,  I  am  fashion's  toy. 

Yes,  this  grass  reminds  me  of  long  past  hours, 

When  in  the  woodland  glen 
I  revelled  'mid  song  and  birds  and  flowers, 
And  formed,  with  the  evergreen,  fairy  bowers. 

Ah  !  I  was  not  lonely  then  ; 
For  he  was  with  me,  my  pride,  my  joy — 
He  is  dead  to  me  now,  I  am  fashion's  toy. 


i  AM  FASHION'S  TOY.  147 

Ah  !  the  hearts  and  the  diamonds  that  lie  at  my 

feet- 
Hearts  are  all  hollow,  and  diamonds  a  cheat, 

Yet  I  cannot  cast  them  away  ; 
I  need  much  wealth  for  my  life  of  deceit — 

Yes,  I  need  it  every  day. 
I  must  give  to  the  poor,  for  that  bliss  doesn't  cloy; 
'Tis  my  only  relief — I  am  fashion's  toy. 

And  is  there  no  end  to  this  empty  life  ; 

To  this  life  of  lip-smiles  and  a  soul  at  strife  ? 

Must  it  ever,  ever  last  ? 
Shall  I  look  through  the  vista  dim  of  years, 
And  see  there  naught  but  grief,  sin,  and  tears  ? 
Ah  !  these  blades  of  grass  for  a  moment  brief, 
O'erflood  my  soul  with  a  sweet  relief, 

And  I  live  in  the  happy  past. 
In  my  dreams,  I  again  am  a  maiden  coy, 
And  I  live  o'er  my  life  of  love  and  joy — 
Now,  the  dream  is  past.     I  am  fashion's  toy. 


148  THE    MAIL   HAS    COME. 


THE    MAIL    HAS    COME. 


"XTOW  the  bitter  pangs  of  hope  deferred 

O'er  us  no  longer  reign, — 
But  the  very  depths  of  our  hearts  are  stirred 

With  a  still  more  poignant  pain  ; 
And  we  sadly  think  of  the  lapse  of  years, 
And  our  eyes  grow  dim  with  the  unshed  tears. 


Where  are  the  noble,  the  good,  the  brave, 

The  father,  husband,  son  ? 
Can  we  bless  the  hand  that  the  sorrow  gave, 

And  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  ?" 
Ah  !  we  sadly  weep  o'er  their  honored  graves — 
But  we  glory  to  think,  that  they  died  not  slaves. 


THK   MAIL   HAS    COME.  149 

Yes,  we  scorn  to  yield  to  a  tyrant's  power  : 

For  oppression  we  despise  ; 
But  ah,  in  the  twilight's  quiet  hour, 

In  bereaved  hearts  will  arise 
Fond  thoughts  of  our  kindred  far  away  ; 
And  again  Hope  emits  her  bright  diamond-like 
ray. 

Xow  the  mail  has  come  ;  in  my  trembling  hand 

Many  missives  of  love  I  hold  ; 
Northern  brothers,  such  love  is  a  stronger  band 

Than  our  cotton,  our  slaves,  your  gold. 
Xow  I  open  them,  one  by  one,  in  dread 
To  hear  from  the  living,  and  the  dead. 

Ah  !  Ava  Maria,  mother  mild, 

I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  ; 
My  father  will  see  again  his  child, 

Thou  hast  hearkened  to  my  prayer. 
But  his  form  is  bent,  and  the  hand  of  time 
Has  silvered  his  locks  with  its  war  and  crime. 


150  THE  MAIL  HAS   COME. 

Why  with  bitter  will  mingle  the  sweets  of  earth  ? 

Why  with  hope  will  come  despair  ? 
Why  cherish  sweet  flowers,  when  at  their  birth, 

We  know  that  their  beauties  rare, 
At  the  touch  of  stern  winter's  chilling  blast, 
Will  vanish  forever,  like  dreams  of  the  past  ? 

My  sister,  my  darling,  has  passed  away — 

She  is  not  dead,  but  sleeping  ; 
Again  we  will  meet,  in  a  short  earthly  day, 

Then  why  are  we  still  weeping  ! 
We  should  gladly  rejoice  that  the  pride  of  our  life 
Was  transplanted  above  all  this  war,  sin,  and 
strife. 

All  send  kindest  greeting  from  over  the  sea — 
Not  a  word  that  can  wound  the  full  heart ; 

Full  of  deep  tender  feeling  and  sympathy, 
Their  letters  but  cheer  impart : 

Then  shall  I  for  tins,  but  a  national  pride, 

Cast  the  friends  of  my  childhood's  days  aside  ? 


THE    MAIL   HAS   COME.  151 

No,  I  love  the  fair  South,  and  my  heart  would 
bound 

In  its  fulluess  of  ecstacy, 
Could  but  the  glad  cry  from  each  hill  resound — 

We  are  free  !  we  are  free  !  we  are  free  ! 
Yet  again  I  send  greeting  far  over  the  sea, 
Each  kind  letter  thence  is  thrice  welcome  to  inc. 


152  TO   DON'   JUAN'    BASS. 


TO    D  0  X    J  U A  X   B  A Z  , 

EX-GOV.    OF   MEXICO. 


~rT7~ELCOME,  stranger  !  glad  I  greet  thee, 

Welcome  to  our  friendly  shore  ; 
Kindred  hearts  exult  to  meet  thee, 
Rest  thyself  in  peace  once  more. 


Think  not  I  ignore  the  angnish 

Which  must  rack  thy  soul  with  pain, 

As  thou  dream'st  of  those  who  languish, 
Far  across  the  distant  main. 

No.    I,  too,  am  homeless,  weary, 
Fainting  in  my  worldly  strife  ; 

And  I  know  how  very  dreary 
Tis  to  be  alone  hi  life. 


TO    DON    JUAX    BAZ.  153 

'Tis  in  sympathy  I  greet  thee  ; 

May  my  simple  words  impart 
Some  ray  of  light,  a  ray  to  cheat  thee 

Of  sad  thoughts  that  swell  thy  heart. 

Sept.  20th,  I860. 


154  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

,  bow  can  I  live  in  a  torture  so  wild, 
And  yet  always  be  dreaming  of  bliss  ? 
Why  not  learn  Fate  has  doomed  me  to  be  sorrow's 

child, 
And  in  meekness  the  heavy  rod  kiss  ? 

I  have  lived  for  long  months  in  a  bright  laud  of 
dreams, 

Dawning  roseate  as  th'  opening  of  day  ; 
But  alas  1  the  bright  tints  were  but  lightning  gleams, 

Flashing  wrath,  and  then  fading  away. 

True  bliss  of  the  soul  I  have  constantly  sought, 
But  alas  !  I  have  sought  it  in  vain  ; 

Oft  earth  its  base  semblance  is  rended  and  bought, 
And  I  never  will  seek  it  again. 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  155 

How  I  long  for  some  spot  iu  the  solitude  deep, 
All  alone  I  could  dwell  there  for  years  ; 

My  only  companion,  Repentance,  and  weep 
Living  fountains  of  sorrowful  tears. 

I  feel  we  are  drifting  too  surely  apart, 

And  sadly  I  think  of  the  pain, 
For  my  loss,  which  will  gnaw  the  proud  core  of 
your  heart, 

As  alone  you  sail  over  life's  main. 

Oh,  why  do  I  sorrow  ?    I  know  there  is  rest 
For  the  weary,  in  mansions  above  ; 

And  I  long  to  go  home  to  the  land  of  the  blest, 
And  drink  deep  of  God's  pardoning  love. 


156 


GONE. 

"  She  was  beautiful  in  life 
And  beautiful  in  death." 

ONE,  with  all  her  sparkling  beauty, 
Gone,  with  innocence  and  youth  ; 

Gone,  with  loving  ways  and  kindness, 
Gone,  with  happiness  and  truth. 

In  the  tomb  they  gently  laid  her — 
Even  strangers  dropped  a  tear  ; 

And  one  heart  will  feel  the  anguish 
Of  her  loss  for  many  a  year. 

Father,  mother,  loving  sisters, 

Deeply  mourn  the  lov'd  and  lost ; 

Who  can  tell  the  'crushing  sorrow 
Of  the  heart  who  lov'd  her  most  ? 


GOXE.  157 

Oft,  I  fancy,  in  the  twilight, 
That  I  see  her  winning  face  ; 

Dream  to  find,  ah,  sad  awakening  ! 
I  was  gazing  into  space. 

Sister,  this  our  earthly  parting, 
Will  not,  cannot,  be  for  aye  ; 

"We  will  meet,  ah,  soon,  my  darling, 
Where  there  is  eternal  day  ! 


158       "  I  WAS  A  STRANGER,  AND  YE  TOOK  ME  IN. 


"  I  WAS  A  STRANGER  AND  YE  TOOK  ME  IN." 


rr^ 


on  the  stormy  waves  of  time, 
By  sternest  cares  oppressed, 
I  sought  and  found  in  Northern  clime 
A  holy  place  of  rest. 

Blessed,  thrice  blessed  be  this  spot, 

Abiding  place  of  peace,  — 
May  trouble's  hand  pollute  it  not, 

And  only  joys  increase. 

And  you,  fair  Annie,  may  your  days 
Be  fraught  with  joy  and  lightness  ; 

May  thornless  flowers  bestrew  your  ways, 
And  all  your  hours  be  brightness. 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE.  159 


THE    DRUNKARD'S    WIFE. 

"T    TOW  slowly  glide  the  hours  by,  the  minutes 

—         hours  seem  ; 

Ah  !  can  such  misery  be  real,  or  is  it  but  a  dream  ? 
'Tis  passing  strange  that  such  as  this  should  be 

my  lot  in  life — 
The  curse  I've  always  dreaded  most, — to  be  an 

unloved  wife. 

The  lark  sung  blithely  as  he  left,  quite  early  in 

the  day  ; 
The  noon-time  came,  and  then  the  night,  and  still 

he  stays  away  ; 
Alas  !  I  am  too  lonely  now,  for  the  children  are 

asleep, 
And  I  have  nothing  else  to  do,  but  watch,  and 

wait,  and  weep. 


160  THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE. 

The  moon  is  shining  brightly,  and  her  calm  and 

chilly  beams 
Would  woo  me  if  they  could  to  seek  the  fairy  land 

of  dreams  ; 
And  the  stars  look  down  with  pity  from  their  lofty 

thrones  above, 
And  tell  me  of  the  many  things  I  have  on  earth 

to  love. 

Ah  !  earth  is  very  beautiful :  its  sunshine  .and  its 

flowers 
Can  truly  heal  the  broken  heart,  and  cheer  its 

lonely  hours  ; 
But,  ah  !  when  night  comes — lonely  night,  with  all 

its  starry  train, — 
The  new-healed  wound,  the  broken  heart,  begins  to 

bleed  again. 

How  endless  seems  this  dreary  night !  and  yet, 

'tis  only  ten  ; 
I  ask  aloud,  "  when  will  he  come  ?"     Echo  repeats 

the  "when?" 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE.  161 

I  fancy  in  each  leaf  that  falls,  'tis  his  footsteps  I  hear; 
But  I  will  learn  to  school  myself,  nor  deign  to  shed 
a  tear. 

Eleven,  now  !  the  night  wears  on,  and  still  I  am 

alone, — 
How  favored  are  the  mortals  who  are  blessed  with 

hearts  of  stone  ! 
My  Father,  on  thy  daughters  look  with  pitying 

eye,  I  pray ; 
Ere  such  a  lot  in  life  be  theirs,  take  them  from 

life  away. 

Ah  !  oft,  too  oft.  such  lives  of  woe  merge  into  lives 

of  sin  ; 
Poor  woman's  heart  must  bow  before  some  image 

loved  within  ; 
Man's  love  must  guide  her  footsteps,  and  her  daily 

pathway  cheer — 
Then  can  it  be  a  sin  to  love  the  one  who  hold:; 

her  dear  ? 


162  THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE. 

'Tis  twelve  o'clock  !    How  can  I  still  this  throbbing 

of  my  brain  ? 
I  wonder  how  much  life  like  this  makes  loving 

wives  insane  ! 
Each  passing  sound — the  gentle  breeze  falls  on  my 

ear  like  fire, 
And  yet  I  dread  to  hear  his  voice — I  dread  the 

drunkard's  ire  ! 

The  ceaseless  ticking  of  the  clock,  with  hollow, 

vocal  sound, 
Smites  on  my  heart  with  boding  voice,  that  leaves 

a  bleeding  wound : 
And  now,  'tis  on  the  stroke  of  one  !     Will  this 

night  never  end  ? 
The  watch-dog's  bark,  the  mock-bird's  note,  and 

cock's  shrill  clarion  blend. 

Another  hour  rolls  slowly  on,  and  in  the  distant  west 
The  pale  moon  hides  her  pearly  beams,  by  sinking 
down  to  rest ; 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE.  163 

And  now  adown  the  distant  road  his  horse  I  surely 

hear — 
Ah,  yes  !  ah,  yes !  his  maudlin  tones  fall  on  my 

listening  ear. 

"  Down,   Flora,  down !    here,  Pup,  come  here  ! 

Why,  puppies,  are  you  glad 
To  see  your  master  home  again  ?    I  believe  the 

dogs  are  mad  !" 
And  now  he  comes  with  tottering  steps,  and  fury 

in  his  eye — 
Ah  !  if  I  could,  right  gladly  would  I  lay  me  down 

and  die. 

How  can  I  bear  this  heavy  load — for  months, 

perhaps  for  years  ; 
Wear  out  my  life  of  misery  with  sorrow,  sin,  and 

tears  ? 
How  long  !  how  long  !  how  long  !  oh,  Lord,  will 

last  this  life  of  strife  ? 
And   shall  I  always — always    be    a   drunkard's 

wretched  wife  ? 


164  THE  FATHER'S  LOVE. 


THE    FATHER'S    LOYE. 

~TpAR  more  priceless  than  the  diamonds  rare 

from  Golconda's  rich  mine  ; 
Far  more  precious  than  the  laurel  wreaths  that 

victor's  brows  entwine, 
Is  the  garland  that  fond   memory  weaves,  and 

twines  about  the  heart — 
For  care  nor  time,  nor  war  nor  crime,  can  make  its 

tints  depart. 

A  mother's  love  !  most  sacred  boon  to  mortals 

ever  given  ; 
'Tis  not  of  earth ;  a  mother's  love  was-  surely  born 

in  heaven  ! 
See  witli  what  gentle,  tender  care  her  darling  child 

she  shields 
From  harms  of  life,  from  every  strife  this  sphere 

terrestrial  yields  ! 


THE  FATHER'S  LOVE.  165 

But  ah,  to  me,  of  all  the  buds  in  memory's  garland 

fair,— 
And  I  have  there  full  many  a  gem  of  worth  and 

beauty  rare, — 
Is  remembrance  of  my  Father's  love,  that  ever 

shineth  bright ! 
To  me,  its  ray  tells  of  the  day  that  dawns  upon 

the  night. 

He  gave  to  me  a  double  share — a  Joseph's  sacred 

part, — 
And  it  twined  itself,   like  ivy-green,  about  my 

infant  heart. 
I  have  revelled  in  gay  fashion's  throng,  have  boived 

at  folly's  shrine, 
But  I  am  sure  my  heart  is  pure,  while  Father's 

love  is  mine. 

All  other  love  is  mockery  to  this,  a  Father's  love — 
Fit  emblem  of  the  strength  of  His,  who  dwelleth 
far  above : 


166  THE  FATHER'S  LOVE. 

More  lasting  than  eternity — more  boundless  than 

the  sea ! 
The  blessing  mine,  the  ray  divine,  may  Father's 

love  e'er  be. 


BURIAL   OF   A   FAIRY  QDEEK.  16T 


BURIAL    OF    A    FAIRY    QUEEN 


o 


N  a  verdant  summer  islet 

I  beheld  a  woudrous  sceue, 
In  a  trance  of  dreamy  waking- 
Burial  of  a  Fairy  Queen  ! 


First  I  heard  some  small  pipes  playing, 
Like  faint  night-winds  on  the  breeze, 

Or  the  sound  of  distant  rain-drops, 
As  they  fall  among  the  trees. 

Floating  softly  o'er  the  waters, 
And  from  every  bell  of  foam, 

The  fairy  anthem  echoed  sweetly, 
Sad  as  thoughts  of  distant  home. 


168  BURIAL   OF   A    FAIRY   QUEEX. 

Next  the  sound,  as  if  of  footsteps, 
O'er  the  grass  plot  mov'd  along  ; 

And  distinctly  came  the  accents 
Of  the  solemn  funeral  song. 

Like  the  melting  of  the  dew-drops, 
Without  words  of  grief  or  death, 

Was  the  soul-enthralling  music, 
Scarcely  louder  than  a  breath. 

Then  my  dreaming  eyes  were  opened, 

And  in  wonder  I  espied 
Thousands  of  the  fairy  creatures 

In  a  circle,  side  by  side. 

Scarcely  taller  than  the  leaflets 
Of  the  herbage  on  the  plain, 

While  their  heads  were  bowed  with  anguish, 
And  their  tear-drops  fell  like  rain. 


BURIAL   OF   A   FAIRY    QUEEN.  169 

Iii  the  middle  of  the  circle, 

On  a  plat  of  grass  most  green, 

Stood  a  bier  of  unknown  flowers, 
Whereon  lay  the  Fairy  Queen. 

Ah,  she  was  pale  as  any  lily, 
Cold  and  motionless  as  snow  ! 

Fainter  grew  their  solemn  dirges, 
And  still  deeper  grew  their  wo  ! 

Two  sisters  of  the  queenly  fairy, 

Stood  at  her  feet  and  head, 
And  sang  heart-broken  measures, 

Their  requiems  o'er  the  dead. 

Scarcely  louder  than  the  twittering 
Of  the  wood-lark's  dewy  breath— 

But  too  full  of  desolation, 

And  the  dark  despair  of  death  I 


170  BURIAL   OF   A   FAIRY   QUEEN. 

Then  the  flower-bier  sank  gently, 
At  the  spot  whereon  it  lay ; 

And  the  magic  turf  clos'd  o'er  it — 
Thus  the  dead  queen  pass'd  away  ! 

Bright  dew-drops  glittered  on  the  sward — 
One  fleet  moment  more,  and  then 

The  mystic  troop  sailed  duskily, 
And  far  from  mortal  ken. 

The  silence  of  the  still  midnight 
The  murmuring  waters  broke  ; 

The  moon,  emerging  from  a  cloud, 
Shone  on  me,  and  I  woke. 


MYSTERIES  OF  LIFE.  171 


MYSTERIES    OF    LIFE. 


aOD  said,  "  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was 
light," 

Created  from  the  darkness  infinite  : 
And  from  the  waters,  called  he  forth  the  Earth, 
And  Heaven  rejoiced  at  this,  her  sister's  birth. 
The  Earth  brought  forth  the  grass,  the  herb,  the 

tree, 
And  flowers,  bright  flowers,  so  priceless  and  so 

free. 
The  heavens,  God  decked  with  mighty  geins  of 

light, 

Sol  ruled  the  day,  the  moon  and  stars  the  night. 
"  Let  waters  bring  forth  creatures  that  have  life." 
On  earth,  in  air,  in  water  there  was  strife. 


172  MYSTERIES    OF   LIFE. 

God  saw  that  all  his  wondrous  work  was  good, 
As  on  his  throne  of  Holiness  he  stood. 
One  thing  was  wanting,  and  the  world  so  fair, 
He  perfect  made  ;  He  placed  his  image  there. 
And  woman  too — of  man  the  better  part, 
He  made  to  twine  herself  about  man's  heart. 
We  gaze  upon  all  natural  works  sublime, 
Mark  daily  births,  and  sad  decay  of  time  : 
We  see  flowers  blooming — see  them  fade  away — 
We  see  bright  visions  vanish  in  a  day  : 
We  dream  of  joy — of  perfect  earthly  bliss, 
Dreams  soft  and  sweet,  yet  fleeting  as  a  kiss. 
The  wild  wind  comes — ah,  whither  does  it  go  ? 
From  whence  do  all  these  gushing  waters  flow  ? 
Why  do  the  roots  take  moisture  from  the  soil  ? 
And  beauteous  flowers  neither  spin  nor  toil ; 
Yet  they  in  robes  of  splendor  are  arrayed, 
Of  texture  fine,  and  colors  of  each  shade. 
Birds,  beasts,  and  flowers,  throughout  our  beau- 
teous land, 
Mysterious  works  of  an  Almighty  hand. 


MYSTERIES   OP   LIFE.  173 

ID  vain  we  seek  solution  here  to  find, 

Of  these  great  problems — earth  and  all  mankind. 

Man  is  the  greatest  mystery  of  life, 

For  in  his  soul  are  passions  ever  rife. 

He  in  his  Saviour's  mighty  image  plann'd, 

To  love,  to  hate,  to  serve,  and  to  command : 

Yet  changing  ever — one  thing  but  a  day  ; 

First  young,  then  old,  then  passing  quite  away. 

In  his  blind  ignorance  doomed  to  never  know, 

From  whence  he  cometh,  whither  he  will  go. 

Perchance  his  soul  once  lived  in  a  bright  flower, 

Which  bloomed  and  faded  in  a  short  sweet  hour  ; 

Perchance  he  dwelt  in  yonder  twinkling  stars — 

In  loving  Yenus,  or  the  warlike  Mars  ; 

In  youth  he  ever  craves  to  be  of  age, 

In  age  he  sighs  while  reading  memory's  page 

Forever  filled  with  longings  undefined, 

With  high-wrought  fancies  of  a  craving  mind  : 

Craving,  alas  !  but  doomed  to  never  find 

Congenial  nature  to  our  hearts  to  bind. 


174  MYSTERIES    OF    LIFE, 

Yearning  for  something  cloudy  as  a  dream, 

He  grasps  the  rainbow,  finds  it  lightning's  gleam. 

The  soul  drinks  beauty  from  each  hill  and  dale, 

The  clouds  of  sunset  and  the  flowery  vale  ; 

Revels  amid  the  histories  of  yore, 

Drinks  deep  of  knowledge,  wildly  craves  for  more. 

He  is  ambitious — he  seeks  lasting  fame, 

Will  earth  defy  to  win  immortal  name. 

He  would  be  happy.     Ah,  all  joy,  all  bliss 

Lasts  but  a  moment  in  a  world  like  this. 

Why  should  we  seek  to  solve  this  mystery  ? 

Through  time  'twill  last,  until  Eternity  ; 

We  know  that  God,  in  his  omnipotence, 

Will  make  dark,  light,  when  we  are  called  from 

hence. 

And  then  alone,  when  ceases  this  frail  breath, 
We'll  read  the  mystery  of  Life,  and  Death. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  CHARLEY  DU  EIGNON.          175 


LINES    UPON    THE    DEATH    OF 

CHARLEY    DU    BIG  X  ON. 

riHE  years  of  manhood  had  not  tinged 

His  young  life  with  their  gloom, 
He  tasted  not  the  bitter  cup 

That  comes  with  life's  full  bloom, 

Of  fond  hopes  wrecked,  ambition  crushed, 

'Till  doubting  even  truth, 
The  sternest  soul  would  hide  itself 

In  memories  of  youth. 

He  saw  not  that  in  friendship's  smile, 

Was  lurking  hate,  deceit  ; 
Nor  had  he  proven  earthly  bliss, 

A  mirage,  dream — a  cheat. 


176         OX  THE  DEATH  OF  CHARLEY  DU  BIG.VON. 

While  youth  sees  but  the  beautiful, 
The  sunshine  and  the  flowers, 

Maturity  will  have  its  cares, 
And  whiter  its  cold  showers. 

Fortune  bestowed  on  this  her  child, 
High  heritage,  proud  birth, — 

Dame  Nature  added,  as  her  dower, 
Rare  gifts  of  untold  worth  ; 

More  priceless  than  most  sparkling  gems, 

As  pure  as  gold  refined  ; 
Most  glorious  birth-right — sacred  gifts, 

A  noble  heart  and  mind. 

How  his  proud,  young  soul  revolted 
At  oppression's  cruel  reign, 

And  he  rushed  forth  to  the  battle-field, 
Our  freedom  to  regain. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  CHARLEY  DU  BIGNOK.         177 

He  thought  not  of  his  slender  frame, 
His  heart  was  filled  with  might ; 

His  armor  God — Truth  for  his  shield — 
His  watchwords,  Freedom  !  Right ! 

Alas,  alas  !  where  are  they  now, 
Our  noble,  good — our  braves  ? 

Does  our  shame  reflect  upon  them  ? 
No,  they  rest  in  soldiers'  graves. 

And  the  old  star-spangled  banner, 
Dyed  with  gore  above  us  waves, 

And  our  gallant  dead  are  freemen, 
And  the  living  Union's  slaves. 

Then  mourn  not,  parents,  for  your  son, 
Your  much-beloved — your  pride  ; 

He  dwells  above  this  earthly  sphere, 
Where  lasting  joys  abide. 


178         OX  THE  DEATH  OF  CHARLEY  DU  BIGXOX. 

When  this  troubled  dream  is  over, 
You  will  meet  your  boy  again  , 

Ah,  you  would  not  then  recall  him 
To  this  earth  of  war  and  pain  ? 

Then  mourn  not,  parents,  for  your  dead, 
But  think  that  his  pure  name 

Is  on  the  list  with  those  who  wear 
The  laurel  wreath  of  fame. 


WE   MET.  179 


WE    MET. 

"TT"7"E  met,  and  memory  flew  to  joys  and  tears, 
Back  through  the  vista  dim,  of  long-past 
years. 

In  my  childhood's  home  I  was  a  child  again — 
A  home  to  me,  save  only  in  the  name. 

And  yet  I  loved  it,  for  there  grew  apace 
Fonr  lovely  children  ripening  into  grace  ; 
If  'twas  not  home,  they  sisters  were  to  me, 
And  even  now  their  fairy  forms  I  see. 

Once  by  a  tomb,  alone  I  stood  so  drear — 
Dropped  on  a  mother's  grave  a  daughter's  tear. 
A  soft  voice  murmured,  "  She's  my  mother  too  ; 
Sister,  I'll  pnt  some  flowers  there  for  you." 


180  WE   MET. 

God  bless  the  child,  she  was  too  fair  for  earth  ; 
Such  flowers  as  she  should  have  immortal  birth  ; 
And  so  God  took  our  darling  home  on  high, 
Where  she  will  bloom  to  never  fade  and  die. 

No  stranger  was  she  in  that  home  above, 
Where  she  was  greeted  with  a  mother's  love  ; 
A  wife  stood  waiting  for  a  husband's  child  ; 
A  sister  welcomed  with  a  gladness  mild. 

We  met,  and  I  to  him  brought  back— iiot  years, 
But  months  deep  fraught,  alas,  with  joys  and  tears, 
That  child  a  maiden  grown,  stood  by  his  side  ; 
His  light,  his  life,  his  darling,  promised  bride. 

Again  he  stood  by  that  sad  bed  of  death, 
And  felt  the  painful  throbbing  of  her  breath. 
"  I  am  so  weary  that  I  fain  would  rest — 
Oh,  darling,  place  my  head  upon  your  breast." 


181 


We  meet  with  hearts  fast  bound  by  mutual  grief ; 
We  knew  that  sympathy  could  give  relief  ; 
So  when  our  stranger  hands  were  joined  together, 
A  lonely  sister  found  a  loving  brother. 


182  DRIXK   ONT. 


DRINK    ON. 


r~T^  AKE  in  hand  the  cup  of  delusion, 
-*-      'With  your  eyes  on  the  future,  drink  ; 
Scorn  the  results,  however  appalling, 

Tho'  you  see  that  you  stand  upon  Hell's 
dark  brink. 


The  bubbles  that  float  on  the  top  of  the  cup 
Are  only  the  tears  of  your  wife  ! 

You  have  drained  her  happiness  in  the  draught — 
Drink  on,  you  will  drain  her  life. 

Drink  on,  fill  the  glowing  cup  anew — 
Now  the  drops  look  red,  blood  red  : 

It  is  only  the  blood  of  your  little  ones — 
And  their  doom  rests  on  your  head  ! 


183 


Drink  then,  drink  on  ;  take  the  cup  to  your  lips  ! 

What  matter  if  parents'  grey  hairs 
Are  floating  upon  its  surface  in  scores  ! 

Drink  on,  you  will  drown  your  cares  ! 

Drink  then,  drink  on  ;  for  you  must  take  the 
cup — 

'Tis  no  longer  a  matter  of  will ; 
Xo  longer  the  cup  of  habit  or  choice— 

But  the  cup  of  punishment — fill ! 

Yes,  drain  the  cup  to  the  bitter  dregs, 
"While  the  fiends  laugh  at  your  pains  ; 

And  exult  to  know  that  but  wretchedness 
In  the  tempting  wine  remains. 


184  SPEAK   TO    HER   TENDERLY. 


SPEAK   TO    HER    TEXDERLY. 

SPEAK  to  her  tenderly,  taunt  her  not  now, 
Tho'  a  million  of  sins  hath  deep  furrowed 

her  brow  ; 

Greet  her  with  kindness.     Her  once  raven  hair 
Is  frosted  with  silver  time's  hand  hath  left  there. 

Cheeks  now  so  colorless,  bloomed  like  the  rose  ; 
Lips  now  all  tremulous,  spoke  but  repose  ; 
Dun  eyes,  all  clouded  with  fountains  of  tears, 
Were  like  the  young  fawn's  eyes,  in  long  agone 
years. 

Speak  to  her  tenderly.     How  can  you  know 
Why  bowed  her  young  soul  'neath  temptation's 
fell  blow? 


SPEAK   TO    HER   TENDERLY.  185 

It  may  be  that  poverty  planted  the  seed — 
Tears  nourished  its  growth,  Pride  matured  the 
rank  weed. 

It  may  be,  she  loved,  tho'  unwisely,  too  well ; 
It  may  be,  the  serpent  allured,  with  his  spell, 
That  from  his  sweet  charming  she  woke  but  to 

know 
The  death  in  life  sorrow — the  all-alone  woe. 

It  may  be,  in  sinning,  she  erred  but  to  save 
A  dear  one  from  filling  want's  desolate  grave  ; 
Perchance  some  unkindness  first  drove  to  despair, 
A  manly  heart  saved  her,  she  wept  her  grief  there. 

Then  judge  not  too  harshly.     Remorse's  heavy 

hand 

Is  a  terrible  stricture — an  icy-cold  band  ; 
Long  years  of  repentance,  of  praying,  and  pain, 
And  the  blood  of  the  Savioar,  hath  cleansed  her 

from  stain  i 


tSG 


M 


KNITTING. 

Y  muse  is  in  the  sulks  to-day, 

I've  tried  in  vain  to  find 
A  subject  fit  for  rhyme  and  song, 
Just  suited  to  my  mind. 


I  called  last  night  upon  the  stars, 

To-day  upon  the  sun, — 
My,  muse  would  leave  me  in  the  lurch, 

With  just  a  line  begun. 

I  tried  to  work,  I  tried  to  sing, 
And  then  I  tried  to  play  ; 

And  then  I  took  my  knitting  up, 
To  while  the  time  away. 


187 


And  then  the  flashes  of  quick  thought, 
With  bliss  thrilled  all  my  soul  ; 

With  every  stitch  did  fancy's  hand, 
A  saddening  page  unroll. 

The  dullest  of  the  dullest  work, 

So  tiresome,  and  so  slow  ! 
To  knit,  and  knit,  the  live-long  day, 

And  still  small  increase  show 

But  as  I  knit,  a  fairy  web 

My  brain  wore  in  its  dreaming, 

And  in  each  stitch  my  fancy  saw 
Some  bright  poetic  gleaming. 

And  stitch  by  stitch  the  work  goes  on, 
For  some  proud  soldier  brave, 

Who  may,  perchance,  these  stitches  wear, 
Into  a  soldier's  grave. 


188  KNITTING. 

Far  away  from  mother,  sister — 

Aye,  from  wife  and  daughter  true, 

With  their  feet  all  bare  and  bleeding. 
And  their  hearts  all  bleeding  too. 

Now,  perchance,  one  may  be  lying 
Wounded  on  the  cold  earth  damp, 

While  so  feebly,  faintly  burning, 
Is  the  last  light  of  life's  lamp. 

Bright  visions  of  the  happy  past, 
Move  slow  before  his  eyes — 

And  then  the  mocking  present  comes 
To  taunt  him  ere  he  dies. 

The  glorious  future  once  so  bright, 
To  him  has  now  grown  dim — 

Alone  he  dies,  while  song-birds  sing 
The  solemn  funeral  hvrnn. 


189 


Ah  !  in  some  distant  cottage, 
His  dear  wife  knitting  there, 

Is  sending  with  each  stitch  she  takes, 
An  earnest,  heartfelt  prayer. 

She  little  thinks,  as,  in  her  pride, 
She  rolls  the  finished  pair, 

That  his  loved  feet  are  cold  and  still, 
And  his  body  free  from  care. 

God  grant  that  in  the  future, 

The  bliss  may  be  in  store, 
That  they  may  meet  in  heaven  above — 

Aye,  meet  to  part  no  more. 

Fond  mother,  cease  your  knitting, 
For  your  boy  with  curly  hair 

Is  dead  upon  the  battle-field, 
So  cold,  and,  oh,  so  fair  1 


190  KNITTING. 

Poor  child,  why  did  they  send  him — 

Too  young,  and  yet  so  brave, 
To  be  a  bullet's  shining  mark, 
And  fill  a  soldier's  grave  ? 

Bend  gently  o'er  him,  comrades — 
Drop  on  his  curls  a  tear — 

Write  on  his  rude-carved  head  board, 
A  mother's  pride  sleeps  here. 

A  mother's  joy — her  treasure, 

A  widow's  only  son, 
Has  gained  the  life  eternal. — 

Death's  victory  is  won. 

Around  his  noble  brow  is  twined 
The  laurel  wreath  of  fame, — 

The  mother's  darling  boy  has  now 
A  never-dying  name. 


191 


I  will  not  say,  I  will  not  think, 

Knitting  is  dull,  again  ; 
For,  from  steel  needles  sparkling  thoughts 

Will  fly  into  the  brain. 


192          OX  THE  DEATH  OF  REV.  S.  K.  TALMAGE. 


LIXE3    OX   THE   DEATH    OF    THE 


KEY.    S.    K.    TALMAGE. 


~~\  /f~OURX  not,  Mends,  mourn  not,  bereaved, 

That  his  earthly  race  is  run  ; 
He  hath  reached  the  gates  celestial, 
Over  death  the  victory  won. 

Moulded  in  his  Father's  image, 
He  the  Saviour's  footsteps  trod  ; 

And  God  claimed  his  sainted  spirit, 
Ere  the  body  reached  the  sod. 

Ah  !  ye  would  not  then  recall  him, 

But  a  tenement  of  clay  ; 
Bless,  oh  !  bless  God,  that  his  mercy, 

Called  his  loved  one  away. 


OX  THE  DEATH  OF  REV.  S.  K.  TALMAGE.     193 

Meek  and  lowly,  pure  in  spirit — 

Humble  as  a  little  child — 
Mighty  in  his  love  of  Jesus — 

He  is  with  the  undefiled. 

Ever  ready  with  his  counsel, 

And  his  prayers  to  guide  the  young  ; 
Choirs  of  redeemed  sinners, 

When  he  died,  the  requiem  sung. 

Mourn  not,  friends,  mourn  not,  bereaved, 

That  his  earthly  race  is  run  ; 
He  hath  reached  the  goal  eternal, 

Over  death  the  victory  won. 


194 


TO    AXXIE. 


A    XXIE,  my  first-born,  gentle  child, 
•"•     My  tender,  fragile  flower  ; 

Why  twines  thy  image  round  my  heart, 
"With  such  mysterious  power  ? 


Is  it  because  thy  infant  wail 

The  icy  barrier  moved, 
That  bound  my  soul's  affections  fast  ? 
I  knew  'twas  mine  I  loved. 

A  mother's  love  no  tongue  can  tell — 
How  boundless  is  that  sea  ! 

Twas  never  mine  ;  her  spirit  fled, 
As  she  gave  birth  to  me. 


195 


Annie,  I  gave  to  thce,  my  child, 

The  love  my  heart  could  yield  : 
God  grant  its  influence  o'er  thee  cast 
From  all  life's  ills  a  shield. 


106  THE    BEAUTIFUL. 


THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

rTlHE  beautiful !  what  is  not  perfect  here  below, 

Created  by  the  great  Almighty  power  ? 
Each  grain  of  sand  Omnipotence  doth  show, 
And  beauty  beameth  in  the  humblest  flower. 

There's  beauty  in  the  budding  leaves  of  spring, 
In  the  maturity  of  summer  born — 

And  in  the  many  hues  that  autumn's  bring, 

And  in  bright  winter's  glittering  sheen  at  dawn. 

Mark  you  the  smallest  insect's  many  hues  ; 

What  beauty  in  their  ever  changing  shade  ! 
The  diamond  glistening  of  the  morning  dews, — 

The  sunbeams  on  the  ocean's  bosom  stayed. 


THE   BEAUTIFUL.  197 

Xight  robed  in  darkness,  and  with  bright  gems 
crowned  5 

The  silvery  softness  of  the  midnight  moon  ; 
The  sunrise-sky,  with  gold  and  blue  zone-bound  ; 

The  fiery  splendor  of  the  day  at  noon. 


The  snow-white  summit  of  the  mountain  proud  ; 

The  solemn  stillness  of  the  flowery  dell ; 
The  fleecy  brightness  of  the  sun-capped  cloud  ; 

The  gem-decked  chambers  of  the  ocean's  cell. 

There's  regal  grandeur  in  the  rushing  storm  ; 

There's  sweetness  hi  the  gentle  rain  soft  falling  ; 
There's  splendor  in  the  lightning's  dazzling  form, 

And  thunder  is  majestic,  yet  appalling. 

See  life  and  beauty  in  the  thoughtless  child — 
The  nobler  beauty  of  good  manhood's  grace  ; 

The  saintlier  beauty  of  the  aged  mild, 

Who  waiteth  summons  to  the  resting  place. 


198  THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

Can  ye  not  see  the  beautiful  repose, 

O'er  all  the  earth  ?    How  blind  then,  are  your 


For  there  is  dearth  of  beauty  but  to  those 
Who  scorn  the  Giver,  and  His  gifts  despise. 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    SEA.  199 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    SEA. 


T  HAVE  pined  for  the  sight  of  the  sea  for  years— 

Pined  amid  hoping,  and  wished  amid  fears  ; 
And  my  heart  grew  glad,  and  it  bounded  in  glee 
At  the  sight  of  the  broad  expanse  of  the  sea. 


The  sea,  the  beautiful,  beautiful 

Beautiful,  boundless,  joyful  and  free  ! 

See  how  they  glimmer,  those  white-capped  waves, 

Reflecting  the  sunlight  from  deep  ocean  caves  ! 

Can  things  so  bright  and  beautiful,  hide 

The  breakers  that  rise  and  sink  with  the  tide  ? 

There,  see  that  gay  gleaming  of  white,  bead-like 

spray, 

Transformed  to  a  rainbow  by  Sol's  colors  gay  ; 
It  gleams  for  a  moment,  and  then  disappears, 
Like  lost  pleasures,  as  seen  through  despair's  briny 

tears. 


200  THE    BEAUTIFUL   SEA. 

Far,  far  in  the  distance,  the  houses  so  white, 
Faintly  show  through  their  veiling  of  green,  red 

and  light ; 

Very  soon  the  diy  laud  we  shall  leave  far  away, 
And  onward  we'll  bound  o'er  the  billows  so  gay. 

But  what  is  the  matter  ?  what  is  the  little  swell  ? 
It  can  surely  be  nothing — I  still  feel  quite  well ; 
Then  another,  another,  another  small  swell, 
And  my  feelings  are  too  undefined  now  to  tell — 
And  the  sea  at  length  loses  its  silvery  light, 
And  its  snow-capped,  bright  waves  grow  as  dark  as 
midnight. 

Ah,  what  has  become  of  those  laughing  young 

graces 

Who  entered  the  vessel  with  bright,  smiling  faces  ? 
Their  gladness  is  lost  in  the  swell  of  the  sea, 
And  to  Xeptune  they  pray  from  their  ills  to  be  free. 
I  laugh,  I  can't  help  it,  to  see  the  distress  ; 
A;i-,l  yet — I  am  sick  myself,  nevertheless  ! 


THE    BEAUTIFUL   SEA.  20 i 

'Tis  the  vessel  that  tosses,  she  sinks  and  she  heaves, 
And  my  sea-admiration  all  quits  me  and  leaves. 
I  am  sick  as  the  mischief !     The  sea,  oh,  the  sea  ! 
Thou  hast  lost  all  thy  charms  and  thy  beauty  to  me. 

Sick  ?  is  there  no  word  in  our  language  to  tell 
The  nausea  and  anguish  of  that  rolling  and  swell  ? 
'Tis  so  funny  to  see  how  each  quick,  sudden  lurch, 
Brings  down  a  new  victim  from  Romance's  perch. 

And  now  conies   that  torment — that  Tom — the 

young  sinner ! 
Says  he,   "  darling  sister,  shall  I  bring  up  your 

dinner  ?v 
Bah  !  dinner,  you  torment !  oh,  pray  drown  me, 

quick, 

For  I  am  so  miserable — sick,  oh,  so  sick  ! 
The  men,  how  I  hate  them !  just  see  how  they 

smile 
At  our  torture,  because  they  are  well  all  the  while. 


202  THE    BEAUTIFUL   SEA. 

Such  pitching  and  tossing — inexpressible  woe  ! 
For  we  heave  with  the  vessel,  and  join  in  each 

throe  ; 

The  faces  around  me  I  cannot  portray — 
But  they  show  their  disgust  of  the  billows  so  gay. 

There  is  nothing,  no,  nothing,  can  bring  us  relief 
From  this  torture  of  tortures,  this  grief  of  all  grief. 
The  sea,  the  boundless  expanse  of  the  sea, 
Thrills  others  with  rapture,  but  cannot  charm  me. 


HUGGING   THE    SHORE.  203 


HUGGING    THE    SHORE. 

I  AO   you  think  you  will    hug   the   shore, 

Captain,  to-day  ?" 
Asked  a  saucy  young  flirt,  with  a  smile  ; 

With  crimson  flush  was  dyed  her  cheek, 
And  over  her  brow  swept  the  roseate  hue, 
While  her  eyes  revealed  in  their  dancing  blue 
All  the  lips  declined  to  speak. 

The  captain  glanced  at  the  distant  shore, 

And  then  at  the  maid  awhile — 
The  shore  was  distant,  and  she  was  near, 
And  the  rose-tint  deepened,  as  he  said,  "  Dear, 

I'll  neglect  the  shore  to-day  !" 


204  HCGGIXG   THE    SHORE. 

And  around  her  waist  crept  the  captain's  hand — 
It  was  so  much  better  than  hugging  dry  land  ! 
And  he  said,  glancing  over  the  vessel's  bow, 
"  The  ship  is  hugging  Cape  Hatteras  now, 
But  I'll  hug  the  Cape  of  May." 


CHRISTMAS,    SOUTH,    1866.  205 


CHRISTMAS,    SOUTH,    1866. 

~T~  AUGHINGr,  merry,  childish  voices,  woke  us 

in  their  eager  glee, 
When  the  rosy  blush  of  morning  in  the  east  we 

scarce  could  see : 
Surely,  ne'er  a  Christmas  morning  was  so  cold  and 

drear  as  this  ; 
Can  it  be  our  hearts  are  frozen  with  the  sere  frost's 

icy  kiss  ? 
Ah,  stern  want  and  desolation  has  a  heavy,  heavy 

hand, 
And  no  mirth  should  ever  issue  from  beneath  the 

iron  band. 
Now    the    voices    draw  still    nearer — bless    the 

children,  all  are  here  ! 
"  Mother,  don't  weep,  they  won't  mind  it ;  oh, 

God  help  thee,  mother,  dear  1" 


206  CHRISTMAS,    SOUTH,    1866. 

One  by  one  they  took  their  stockings,  gazed  upon 

the  store,  then  turned  : 
"  Sissic,"  said  the  bravest  rebel,  "  did  Santee  have 

his  cotton  burned  ?" 
"  Hush,  hush,  Buddie  ;  don't  say  nothing  ;  just  see 

how  poor  mamma  cries." 
Now  the  repentant  Buddy  to  his  mother's  bedside 

hies — 
"  I'm  so  sorry,  mother,  darling  :  when  I'm  grown 

you  shan't  be  poor  ; 
I'll  write  for  the  Yankee  papers,  that  will  make  us 

rich  once  more." 
Off  I  turned  to  hide  my  feelings — feelings  deep  by 

care  refined, — 
Ah  t  my  child,  like  sister  Annie's,  your  poor  piece 

may  be  declined. 
Ah,  there  is  some  joy  in  sorrow  !  in  the  door  two 

freed-men  creep  : 
"  Christmas  gif,  ole  Mis,  Miss  Annie — why,  what 

fur  you  white  folks  weep  ? 


CHRISTMAS,    SOUTH,    1866.  207 

All  dis  time  you  give  us  Christmas  ;  now,  we  going 

to  give  to  you  : 
Here,  old  Missus,  here,  Miss  Annie — children,  here's 

your  Christmas,  too  !" 
lu  black  bosoms  true  love  lingers,  deeply  by  our 

kindness  riven, 
And  the  tender  tie  that  binds  us,  can  be  severed 

save  by  heaven. 
O'er  the  day  that  dawned  so  sadly,  that  kind  act 

a  ray  imparts, 
And  we  grasp  the  sunbeam  gladly,  for  it  cheers 

our  achini?  hearts. 


208  A   LOVE-LETTER. 


A    LOVE-LETTER. 

J  wished  for  a  love-letter,  Doctor — but 
Y 

then, 

I  know  you  to  be  most  conceited  of  men  ; 
You'll  think  Fin  in  earnest,  I  vow  now  I  ain't, 
For  I  would  not  deign  to  love  even  a  saint. 

You  must  never  believe  what  the  fair  ladies  say: 
Take  their  nay  for  a  yes,  and  their  yes  for  a  nay. 
Like  doctors,  the  darlings  are  very  deceiving, 
And  most  that  they  say  is  not  half  worth  believing. 

But  now  for  my  letter.     How  shall  I  begin  ? 
If  I  say,  my  dear  Doctor,  that  will  be  a  sin  ! 
And  a  love-letter  without  dear,  darling,  or  dove, 
Would  be  as  insipid  as  one  without  love. 


A   LOVE-LETTER.  209 

.  it- 
Love,  glorious  love,  with  its  grand  mystic  art, 
Sways  each  mortal  mind,  and  scathes  each  human 

heart  ; 

Without  care  or  regret  it  inflicts  pain  or  joy, 
Tossing  high  the  frail  heart  that  becomes  its  day's 

toy. 

It  drinks  up  the  life-sap,  becomes  life  itself, 
Regardless  of  true  love,  of  beauty  or  pelf — 
An  object  most  "  homely  "  in  love's  eye  I  ween — 
Will  seem  like  an  angel,  as  bright  as  a  queen. 

It  glosses  its  object,  like  man's  serpent  tongue — 
Makes  even  the  aged  appear  as  if  young  ; 
Waving  locks  to  love's  eye,  e'en  if  sprinkled  with 

gray, 
Does  not  lessen,  but  strengthens  its  powerful  sway. 

Love,  bright,  joyous  love,  heals  each  sad,  breaking 

heart, 
But  breaks  it  again  when  it  strives  to  depart : 


210  A   LOVE-LETTER. 

For  the  void,  when  once  filled  by  love,  never  again 
A  vision  can  fill  it,  save  only  great  pain. 

The  blessing  of  blessings,  the  greatest  of  woes, 
Will  leave  its  bright  signet  wherever  it  goes  : 
Then  seek  love  and  find  it,  whenever  you  can — 
My  counsel  is  needless,  for  you  are  a — man. 

Xow,  Doctor,  I'm  sure  that  this  letter  you'll  find 
Is  suited  exactly  to  your  turn  of  mind  ; 
I've  sent  what  I  promised — a  true  loving  letter, — 
And  if  it  don't  suit  you,  why,  just  write  a  better  ! 


TO    ONE    WHO    SLEEPETH.  211 

TO    ONE    WHO    SLEEPETH. 

WRITTEN    BY   A    SCHOOL-HOUSE    WELL. 

T   ONGr  years  have  passed  since  first  a  merry 
-M        child, 

I  quaffed  the  precious  drink  with  eager  joy, 
And  dashed  the  silvery  drops,  with  laughter  wild, 

Upon  the  saucy  youth,  and  maiden  coy. 

To  the  old  well  we  wandered,  hand  in  hand, 

And  by  the  way  we  cull'd  each  new-blown  flower ; 

Then  near  the  large  old  oak-tree  we  would  stand, 
And  fashion  wreaths  to  wither  in  an  hour. 

With  a  large  leaf  you  made  a  tiny  cup, 

And  call'd  me  then  your  little  fairy  queen  ; 

And  you,  the  king,  would  dip  the  water  up — 
Most  faithful  subject  in  my  realm,  I  ween. 


212  TO   OXE    WHO    SLEEPETH. 

Up  to  the  sky  we  built  a  mighty  pile 
Of  lofty,  splendid  castles  in  the  air  ; 

Then  dashed  them  down,  you  laughing  all  the  while 
At  my  half-smiling  and  half-sad  despair. 

We  watched  the  others  as  they  came  to  drink, 
With  lore  prophetic  did  their  fortunes  tell ; 

All  by  the  way  they  made  the  bucket  sink, 
With  motion  fast  or  slow,  down  in  the  well. 

How  often  shelter'd  from  the  sudden  shower, 
Beneath  the  roof  we'd  sit,  and  sweetly  dream  ; 

Charmed  with  the  lightning's  swift  and  dazzling 

power, 
We  reached  our  hands  to  grasp  the  fatal  gleam. 

Then  when  the  sun  its  radiant  beams  did  lend 
The  glorious  beauty  of  the  clouds  t'  unfold. 

We  sought  in  vain  to  reach  the  rainbow's  end- 
To  find  a  treasure  there — a  pot  of  gold  ! 


TO    ONE    WHO    SLEEPETH.  213 

Too  short,  alas  !  would  be  our  dream  of  bliss — 
For  wakened  by  the  school-bell's  lively  ring, 

We  did,  as  mortals  must,  in  earth  like  this, 
Our  airy  thoughts  to  things  terrestrial  bring. 

Long  years  have  passed,  and  once  again  I  stand 
Upon  the  brink  of  this  much-loved  old  well ; 

An  alien  and  a  stranger  in  the  land, 

Drawn  thither  by  some  mystic  charm  or  spell. 

Where  are  ye  now,  friends  of  my  early  days  ? 

Why  stand  I  here  so  desolate  and  lone  ? 
Alas !  alas  !  all  gone  their  earthly  ways, 

Or  in  the  angel  throngs  around  God's  throne. 

And  you  who  swore  to  win,  in  youthful  pride, 
The  laurel  wreath  of  fame  to  deck  your  brow, 

And  then  to  come  and  claim  me  as  your  bride — 
Where  are  you  now  ?  oh,  God !  where  are  you 
now? 


214  TO    ONE    WHO    SLEEPETH. 

Oh,  that  your  sainted  spirit  had  the  power 

To  seek  the  earth,  and  on  this  loved  spot  stand, 

That  I  could  tell  you,  in  this  twilight  hour, 

All  my  past  life,  while  clasping  hand  in  hand  : 

Could  put  my  hand  upon  your  manly  breast, 

And  tell  you  since  the  night,  to  young  love's 
dawn, 

The  saddening  shadows  of  a  life  unblest, 

Veil-like  athwart  my  spirit  have  been  drawn. 

And  tell  yon,  ere  the  flush  of  youth  was  past, 
All  bright  hopes  faded  from  my  sight  away  ; 

And  how  I  wished  each  hour  could  be  my  last, 
For  to  me,  tune  was  night  without  its  day. 

How  sadly  I  have  roved  from  shore  to  shore — 
Sought  happiness  in  palace  and  in  cot : 

And  still  I  seek,  and  shall  forever  more-r— 
But  shall  I  find  it  ?     Ah,  you  answer  not ! 


TO    ONE    WHO    SLEEPETH.  215 

How  I  have  quaffed  from  pleasure's  giddy  cup, 
And  sought  to  win  a  never-dying  name  ! 

Alas !  to  taste  with  but  the  smallest  sup 

The  bitter  that  is  mixed  with  sweets  of  fame. 

I  am  not  wretched  now.     The  heavy  cloud 

That  shaded  from  my  sight  each  joyous  gleam, 

And  robed  my  spirit,  as  if  with  a  shroud, 

Has  passed  away.    I  see  the  moon's  pale  beam : 

Peace  should  content  me,  but  we  mortals  crave 
Some  earthly  fame,  some  happiness  and  love  ; 

But  disappointed  soon  we  reach  the  grave, 
And  find  such  bliss  alone  in  heaven  above. 

In  heaven  ?     Oh,  tell  me  from  that  other  shore, 
Where  with  the  favored  beings  of  God  you 
dwell— 

[s  there  a  place  they  torture  evermore — 

Oh,  is  there  without  doubt  a  heaven  or  hell  ? 


TO    ONE    WHO    SLEEPETH. 

Say,  will  the  doors  of  heaven  be  open  thrown 
To  all  who  sorrow  for  a  life  of  sin, 

Far  upward  by  their  strong  repentance  borne — 
Say,  can  such  stricken,  weary  souls  go  in  ? 

"Why  do  I  doubt  !     I  know  there  is  a  heaven, 
And  that  this  life  is  nothing  but  a  dream, 

And  hope  one  day,  with  all  my  sins  forgiven, 
To  meet  thee  where  all  things  are  what  thej 
seeni ! 

I  must  away,  for  now  the  night  draws  nigh, 
And  stars  begin  to  glimmer  o'er  my  head  : 

Ah  !  would  my  home  was  up  above  the  sky — 
My  name,  with  yours,  was  numbered  with  the 
dead. 


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